THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES' 


THI3 


SHEAVES     OF     LOVE. 


'  There  is  that  maketh  himself  rich,  yet  hath  nothing  ;  there  la  that  raaketh  himself 
poor,  yet  hath  great  riches."—  SOLOMON. 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED   BY  L.  J.  PRATT. 
1861. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  I860,  by 

I*.  J.  PBATT, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


BOSTON: 

DAMRELL  AND    MOORE,   PRINTERS  AND   BOOKBINDERS, 
16  Devonshire  Street. 


YOUTH  OF  OUR  BELOVED  COUNTRY, 


THIS    BOOK 


$8    gjtbitateb. 


89M29 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

CHAPTER        L— A  DISCARDED  PLAN     .  "    ...  .       1 

"  II.  — HOME  CHARACTERS           ...  11 

"  III.— THE  THREE  WISHES     .           .           .  .      20 

"           IV.— LILY 29 

"  V.  — LILY'S  PARTY    .          .          .          .  .33 

"  VI.  — DEPARTURE.    SWEET  ELLEN  LEB          .  47 

"  VII.  — SCHOOL-LIFE 55 

"  VIII.— THE  YOUNG  COLLEGIAN    ...  61 

"  IX. — A  SABBATH  IN  ELMWOOD       .           .  .70 

"  X.  —  CHARLES'S  PICTURE           ...  76 

"  XI.  — THE  TRUE  POET          .           .           .  .86 

"  XII.— ALICE  AND  THE  JUDGB     .           .           .  92 

"  XIII. — LIZZIE'S  JEWELS           .           .           .  .99 

"  XIV.— THE  HUSKING        V          .          .           .  107 

"  XV.— THE  FADED  FLOWER    .          .          .  .120 

"  XVI.  —  UNHAPPINESS          ....  129 

"  XVII. —  "  LEAD  us  NOT  INTO  TEMPTATION  "  .    137 

"  XVIII.  —  CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  AT  HOME            .  146 

"•.  XIX. — A  CLOUD  IN  THE  SKY             .           .  .    158 

"  XX.  — DARK  PROSPECTS    ....  173 

XXI.— AN  OFFER  .    183 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

Page 

CHAPTEH  XXII.  — THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD       .          .  194 
"      XXIII. — THE  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE.  FEED'S  RESOLVE   209 

"      XXIV.  —  FASHIONABLE  EDUCATION           .           .  219 

"        XXV.  —  FOOD  FOB  THOUGHT    .           .           .  .230 

"      XXVI.— Two  CHRISTMAS  SCENES             .           .  236 

"     XXVII.  — THE  MAGIC  HARP       .          .          .  .242 

"  XXVIII.  —  A  JOYFUL  REVELATION    .          .    -      .  245 

"      XXIX.— A  HOPE  FOR  THE  FUTURE     .           .  .252 

"        XXX.— FAREWELL             ....  257 

"      XXXI.— CONCLUSION  .    265 


THE   SHEAYES  OF  LOVE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

A     DISCARDED      PLAN. 

"  WHAT  now,  my  fair  cousin ! "  exclaimed  Fred 
Whiting,  as  in  no  very  gentlemanly  manner  he 
rushed  into  his  father's  library.  "  I  say,  Alice.,  I 
had  no  idea  of  finding  you  here.  I  thought  wo 
men's  time  was  all  taken  up  with  that  endless  em 
broidery  and  fancy  work,  though  I  never  could  see 
any  use  or  propriety  in  it.  But,  as  I  was  going  to 
say,  I  thought  father's  library  contained  no  works  of 
fiction.  Why,  bless  me !  "  —  and  Fred's  eyes  grew 
larger  and  brighter  as  he  read  —  "'Book  of  En 
tertaining  Knowledge.'  Well,  I  declare,  Alice," 
he  exclaimed,  "  if  you  aren't  a  perfect  puzzle ! 
Why  I  never,  in  my  wildest  moments,  supposed 
that  woman's  intellect  was  capable  of  grasping  any 
thing  higher  than  fiction.  Pray,  what  do  you  read 
it  for?" 

Cousin  Fred  stopped  a  moment  to  take  breath; 

for  these  questions  and  observations  had  been  poured 
1 


£  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

forth  in  a  much  less  time  than  it  has  taken  us  to 
record  them.  And,  while  Alice  is  trying  to  frame 
an  answer  for  them  all,  we  also  will  ask  one  ques 
tion.  Who  was  Frederick  Whiting  ? 

Frederick  Whiting  was  the  only  son  of  William 
Whiting,  Esq.,  a  wealthy  merchant  of  New  York. 
He  was  one  of  the  favored,  or  rather  unfortunate, 
children  of  wealth ;  for  his  father's  money  and  influ 
ence,  while  it  had  procured  him  every  advantage  of 
society  and  education,  had  also  surrounded  him  with 
a  crowd  of  flatterers,  who  filled  his  mind  with  ideas 
of  his  own  personal  importance  and  superiority. 

Yet  Fred  Whiting,  despite  his  faults,  had  an 
unselfish,  affectionate  disposition,  which  a  happy 
home  and  judicious  training  would  have  strength 
ened,  and  which,  under  proper  influences,  would 
have  rendered  him  a  character  estimable  for  all 
good  and  moral  qualities.  But  he  found  little  sym 
pathy  in  his  family.  All  had  different  tastes,  and  he 
sought  elsewhere  that  society  and  enjoyment  which 
his  own  home  should  have  afforded. 

He  was  now  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  for  two 
years  had  been  attending  school,  with  a  view  to 
enter  college.  He  was  at  home,  spending  his  Vaca 
tion  ;  and  with  the  boyish,  fun-loving  spirit  of  his 
age,  he  had  teased  his  mother,  hectored  his  sisters, 
and  bothered  the  servants  to  the  last  point  of  endur 
ance,  and,  as  his  mother  said,  "  pestered  the  whole 
household  generally."  Of  his  cousin,  who  was  of 


A    WISCABDED    PLAN.  3 

a  quiet,  studious  temperament,  he  had  taken  but 
little  notice,  save  to  rally  her  upon  her  "  dark  brown 
studies,"  as  he  called  them.  But,  upon  the  morning 
in  question,  he  had  exhausted  his  ingenuity  in  ex 
pedients  for  fun  and  frolic-making.  It  "was  a  foggy, 
rainy  morning  in  November;  and  his  elder  sister 
had  not  yet  arisen,  knowing  she  should  have  no 
callers  in  that  weather ;  his  mother  had  taken  refuge 
in  her  room,  under  a  severe  fit  of  headache  and  of 
ennui ;  and  his  younger  sister,  of  the  age  of  Alice, 
was  visiting  for  the  day  at  a  young  friend's.  >  He 
had  repaired  to  the  kitchen :  but  John,  the  coach 
man,  had  gone  away  some  miles  upon  business  ;  and 
the  cook,  a  faithful  old  sable,  who  had  served  trie 
family  for  many  years^,  said  she  "  done  wish  young 
massa  'd  cl'ar  out,  and  leab  de  kitchen  to  honest 
folks  as  minded  der  own  'fairs." 

In  this  dilemma  he  suddenly  bethought  himself 
of  Alice.  "I'll  hunt  her  up,"  thought  he.  But 
no  Alice  was  to  be  found.  Every  imaginable  place 
was  ransacked ;  dark  holes  and  corners  received  the 
benefit  of  his  bright,  prying  eyes.  And  even  clothes- 
rooms  and  china-closets  were  opened,  with  no  suc 
cess  ;  for  Fred  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  look 
ing  into  the  stables  for  one  of  the  family,  as  into  his 
father's  library. 

It  was  a  grand  old  room,  with  heavy  oaken  wain 
scots  and  panellings  ;  and  its  bay  windows  were 
shaded  with  rich  crimson  curtains. 


4  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

As  Fred  impulsively  threw  open  the  door,  he 
started  back  as  if  half  ashamed  of  intruding.  There 
sat  Alice,  her  head  resting  upon  her  hand,  and  the 
traces  of  tears  still  upon  her  cheeks.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  she  had  not  expected  to  be  disturbed,  for 
her  book  had  slipped  from  her  hand,  and  now  rested 
upon  her  lap.  But  she  rose  with  a  smile,  and 
seemed  anxious  to  conceal  her  recent  agitation. 

It  was  wholly  unnecessary ;  for  Fred  had  eyes 
for  nothing  but  fun.  He  picked  up  the  book ;  and 
a  glance  at  the  title-page  had  'so  astonished  him,  as 
to  give  rise  to  the  loquacious  young  gentleman's 
remarks  at  the  opening  of  our  story. 

But  Alice's  thoughts  were  far  back  in  the  past. 
She  had  been  visiting,  on  that  dull  November  morn 
ing,  the  "  green  spots  of  her  memory."  She  had 
stood  once  more  by  the  little  brown  cottage,  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  maples,  and  heard  her  mother's 
voice,  and  felt  her  hand  upon  her  head  in  blessing, 
as  of  old.  But  her  cousin's  voice  had  broken  the 
spell ;  and  his '  last  question,  "  Pray,  what  do  you 
read  it  for  ? "  was  still  sounding  in  her  ears.  Her 
cousin's  sudden  entrance,  and  her  own  sad  thoughts, 
made  her  nervously  sensitive ;  and,  when  she 
looked  up,  her  lip  trembled,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

"  Now  don't,  cousin,  for  the  world,  go  to  crying, 
for  I  do  hate  scenes ; "  and  Fred  strutted  conse 
quentially  around  the  room.  "But,  Alice,  what  it 


A    DISCARDED    PLAN.  5 

the  matter  ?  Are  you  really  unhappy  ? "  said  he,  in. 
an  altered  tone  ;  for,  as  we  have  already  said,  he  had 
an  affectionate  disposition. 

"  No,  no,  Fred !  not  that :  but  I  feel  sad  this 
morning ;  for  I  have  been  thinking  about  my  own 
dear  old  home,  and  my  father  and  mother,  and  the 
red  school-house,  where  I  used  to  go  ;  and,  oh !  so 
much- that  used  to  be,  and  never  can  be  again." 

"Well,  well,  coz  !  don't  fret  about  it !  It's  only 
the  weather  that  makes  you  feel  so.  Come,  cheer 
up !  You're  a  little  too  .blue  at  times,  to  be  sure  ; 
but,  for  all  that,  I  like  you  first  rate,  —  a  deal  better 
than  I  do  Ada  and  Liz." 

Alice  fixed  her  large  dark  eyes  upon  her  cousin 
beseechingly,  —  "  Don't,  Fred,  talk  so  about  your 
own  sisters.  I  am  sure  they  would  not  be  cross  if 
you  did  not  tease  and  worry  them." 

"I  don't  care!  they  deserve  it  all!  Don't  you 
suppose  I've  seen  how  selfish  they  are  ?  I  say  it's 
a  mean  shame ;  and,  while  I'm  at  home,  I'm  going  to 
take  your  part,  and  be  your  knight-errant.  That, 
you  know,  is  what  they  used  to  call  the  man  who 
protected  the  ladies  in  old  times,"  said  Fred,  patron 
izingly. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  cousin.  You  have  always 
been  kind  to  me,  and  I  love  you  for  it ;  but  don't 
let's  talk  dfoout  this  any  more.  I  want  to  ask  your 
advice  about  something,  —  an  important  project  of 
mine." 


6  THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

Once  more  Fred's  eyes  were  wide  open  with  won 
der  ;  but  he  said  nothing,  and  Alice  proceeded,  — 

"  I  should  have  asked  your  mother  about  it ,-  but 
you  know  Aunt  Emily  seldom,  talks  much  to  me, 
and  somehow  there  don't  seem  to  be  any  one  who 
will  listen  to  me  as  you  do. 

"  You  know  when  Uncle  took  me  away  from  my 
old  home,  five  years  ago,  I  knew  very  little,  —  only 
the  rudiments  of  reading,  writing,  arithmetic,  and 
a  little  grammar." 

Fred  wondered  what  was  to  come. 

"  Since  that  time  I  have  never  been  to  school. 
But  you,  who  have  had  all  the  advantages  of  educa 
tion,  cannot  tell  how  I  have  longed  for  books  and 
knowledge.  Encouraged  by  Uncle  William's  kind 
ness,  I  was  bold  enough  to  ask  him  to  let  me  come 
here  and  read.  He  consented ;  and  from  that  hour 
it  has  been  my  chief  delight  to  occupy  my  leisure 
moments  in  this  manner,  and  to  make  up  by  dili 
gent  study  for  what  I  have  lost." 

"  Well  done,  Alice  !  "  interrupted  Fred.  "  I 
should  call  that  '  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  under 
difficulties.'  I  think  you're  a  model  of  thought  and 
industry.  Here  I've  been  at  school  two  years,  and 
'twould  puzzle  a  lawyer  to  find  out  what  I've  been 
doing,  except  to  spend  money  and  waste  my  time  ; 
and  all  the  time  you've  been  wanting  tft  learn  so 
much !  How  I  wish  you  had  had  the  instruction 
that  has  been  wasted  on  me ! " 


A   DISCARDED    PLAN.  7 

"  Thank  you,  Fred  ;  but  you  haven't  heard  my 
plan  yet." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  forgot.     Pray  proceed." 
"  But  you  won't  laugh  at  what  I'm  going  to  say  ?  " 
"  No :  I'll  give  you  my  word  beforehand." 
"  Well,  the  other  day  as  I  was  looking  over  the 
books  I  took  down  one  called  f  Anecdotes  of  Self- 
made  Men,'  and  I  thought  if  the  men  it  spoke  of 
there  could  undergo  so  many  hardships  and  sacrifices 
to  acquire  education,  why  could  not  I  do  something 
towards  educating  myself.     And  so  I  thought,  and 
thought,  and  at   last  I  hit  upon  a  plan;  but  I'm 
almost  afraid  to  tell  you  now,  for  fear  you  will  laugh 
at  it,  or  tell  Aunt  Emily,  or  do  something  else  to 
spoil  it  all." 

"  No,  I  won't.  You  must  tell  me  now,  for  I've 
got  interested." 

"  Well,  my  plan  is  this :  If  Uncle  William 
would  advance  money  sufficient  to  pay  my  tuition 
until  I  am  able  to  teach,  I  would  then  most  cheer 
fully  return  it,  —  and  then  I  would  be  fitted  for  use 
fulness.  What  do  you  think  of  it." 

Alice's  eyes  brightened  with  hope  as  she  spoke. 
Fred  looked  at  her  a  moment,  as  if  too  much  amazed 
to  speak. 

"  Why,  Alice  Morton,  are  you  crazy  ?  What  did 
put  such  an  idea  into  your  head?  It's  well  you 
did  not  say  any  thing  to  mother  about  it.  VV  hy, 


8  THE   SHEAVE8   OF   LOVE. 

Alice,  do  you  suppose  father  "Would  allow  you 
to  become  a  teacher  or  governess,  subject  to  peo 
ple's  caprices  or  whims  ?  Besides,"  said  he,  as  he 
noticed  her  look  of  disappointment,  "  father  is  able 
to  send  you  to  school  a  century  if  he  is  a  mind 
to.  I  am  going  down  to  the  office  this  very  morn 
ing,  and  will  ask  him  about  it,  if  you  wish." 

"  But  then  it  would  not  be  like  earning  it  my 
self,"  said  Alice,  who  could  see  no  impropriety  in 
her  discarded  plan. 

"  I  know  it ;  but  then  it  would  be  a  much  easier 
way." 

"  But  what  real  harm  would  there  be,  should  I  do 
so  ?  "  persisted  Alice. 

"  Why,  not  any  that  I  know  of,  if  your  friends 
were  not  able  to  do  for  you.  Father  is  not  nig 
gardly,  and  will  not  suffer  you  to  do  such  a  thing. 
But,  suppose  there  was  a  necessity,  and  you  should 
do  so,  it  would  be  a  long  time  before  you  would  be 
able  to  pay  for  one  year's  tuition.  It  will  be  years 
before  you  can  command  a  salary  ;  and  the  majority 
of  female  teachers  rarely  get  over  three  hundred 
dollars  a  year." 

Alice's  countenance  fell  with  the  castles  she  had 
been  building  in  the  air.  "  But  never  mind,"  said 
her  sympathizing  cousin,  "  I'll  ask  father  about  it. 
He  will  arrange  it  right,  I  dare  say." 

So  occupied  had  they  been  with  their  conversa- 


A   DISCARDED    PLAN.  9 

tion,  that  they  did  not  hear  a  quick  step  in  the  hall, 
or  notice  that  the  door  which  Fred  had  left  ajar  had 
been  pushed  slyly  open,  till  a  pair  of  angry  blue 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  them,  and  a  loud  voice  ex 
claimed,  — 

"  I  should  like  to  know,  Alice  Morton,  how  you 
came  in  here.  You  have  no  business  in  father's 
private  room.  He'd  be  very  much  displeased  if  he 
knew  it !  " 

"  Uncle  William  gave  me  permission,"  timidly 
ventured  Alice. 

Here  Fred  interfered.  <f  It  wouldn't  hurt  you, 
I'm  thinking,  if  you  came  here  once  in  a  while, 
instead  of  wasting  your  time  in  bed.  Besides  Alice 
did  have  permission.  I  heard  father  when  he  gave 
it  to  her ;  and  I  say  she  shall  stay  if  she  wants  to." 

"  You  don't  know  any  thing  about  it,  and  it's  none 
of  your  business  !  "  retorted  his  sister. 

"  My  dear  sister,"  said  Fred,  with  mock  gravity, 
"you  remind  me  of  the  dog  in  the  manger,  who 
would  neither  eat  the  hay  himself  nor  allow  any 
body  else  to." 

With  a  frowning  brow  and  an  angry  toss  of  the 
head,  Lizzie  retreated  towards  the  hall,  and  passed 
on  to  the  breakfast-room. 

As  the  door  closed  violently  behind  her,  Alice 
said,  "  Oh,  Fred  !  how  could  you  ?  It  only  makes 
things  worse !  I  would  much  rather  have  gone  out. 

But  did  you  really  hear   uncle  say  I  might  come 
l* 


10  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

here  ?  He  told  me  the  other  day,  and  I  thought  we 
were  all  alone." 

"No,  I  didn't  hear  him!     I  only  told  her  so." 

"  But  that  was  telling  a  lie." 

"  Oh,  no  !  it  was  the  most  harmless  thing  in  the 
world.  Only  the  smallest  kind  of  a  white  lie.  I 
did  it  on  purpose  to  spite  her.  You  know  lying 
is  necessary  in  some  cases." 

"  No !  I  don't  think  so.  We  never  should  do 
wrong,  whatever  good  may  come  of  it." 

"  But  Liz  is  so  obstinate  and  provoking  ;  and  then 
nobody  expects  me  to  be  as  good  as  you  are.  How 
ever,  I'm  sorry  I  told  a  fib.  Good-bye.  I'm  going 
down  to  the  office  now." 

"  But  you  aren't  going  to  ask  Uncle  "William  about 
that  ?  "  said  Alice. 

"  Yes,  I  am.  And  you'll  go  to  school,  and  get  to 
be  very  wise  or  wonderful,  and  we  shall  all  be  proud 
of  you." 

So  saying,  Fred  bounded  out  of  the  room,  and 
Alice,  with  a  sigh,  put  up  her  book,  and  went  into 
the  breakfast-room,  to  endeavor  to  pacify  the  still 
angry  Lizzie. 


CHAPTER  H. 

HOME     CHARACTERS. 

ALICE  MORTON  was  au  orphan.  For  five  yeara 
she  had  not  known  a  mother's  care  or  affection,  and 
eight  years  had  elapsed  since  she  had  climbed  her 
father's  knee,  or  received  his  coveted  kiss.  .  Stern 
poverty  and  severe  misfortunes  had  rendered  her  an 
inmate  of  her  uncle's  family ;  but  she  had  never 
been  happy  there,  and  she  had  now  only  the  mem 
ory  of  a  home.  But  very  pleasant  was  the  memory 
of  that  home  far  back  in  the  past.  In  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  spots  in  the  valley  of  the  Connecticut, 
far  removed  from  the  great  city  of  trade,  where 
the  sun  shines  alike  upon  the  dwellings  of  rich  and 
poor,  and  where  the  flowers  have  leave  to  grow,  was 
the  peaceful  cottage  of  Edward  Morton,  the  carpen 
ter.  An  honest  but  hard-working  man  was  Edward 
Morton ;  and,  as  he  went  day  by  day  to  his  simple 
labor,  he  never  dreamed  of  being  ashamed  that  he 
was  a  mechanic,  but  in  the  riches  of  his  great  heart 
thanked  God  for  the  blessings  of  health,  freedom:, 
and  abundance. 

-  But  trials  came  to  that  humble  roof.  Work  be 
came  scarce,  wages  were  low,  and  bread  dear ;  and 
for  the  first  time  poverty  crossed  the  threshold  of 


2  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

that  quiet  home.  It  was  at  this  time  that  the  dis 
covery  of  gold  in  California  made  it  the  Eldorado 
of  the  traveller  and  adventurer.  The  almost  fabu 
lous  stories  told  concerning  the  beauty  of  its  climate, 
and  the  richness  of  its  veins  of  gold,  appealed  strongly 
to  the  imagination  of  Mr.  Morton ;  and  he  departed 
for  that  distant  clime,  strong  in  the  hope  of  the  un 
certain  future,  and  followed  by  the  prayers  and 
blessings  of  his  wife  and  child. 

But  poverty  is  a  hard  task-master,  and  Mrs.  Mor 
ton  was  constitutionally  delicate.  For  two  years 
there  came  to  them  letters  filled  with  encouragement 
and  counsel,  and  with  words  breathing  hopes  "  of 
better  days."  Then  came  a  long  silence,  and  at 
last  vague  reports  of  his  death  in  a  foreign  land, 
till  at  length  her  health  sank  beneath  the  added  bur 
den  of  labor  and  anxiety. 

And  was  there  no  brother  or  sister  or  friend  to 
whom  she  could  appeal  in  this  her  hour  of  extremi 
ty  ?  Yes,  she  had  one  sister ;  but  time,  circum 
stance,  and  their  own  dispositions  had  rendered  them 
almost  strangers.  As  the  wealthy  Mrs.  Whiting, 
how  could  she  be  expected  to  visit  the  low,  vulgar 
mechanic's  wife,  even  if  she  were  her  own  sister  ? 
So  reason  the  rich.  While  Mrs.  Morton,  with  that 
high-souled  independence  which  belongs  to  a  sensi 
tive  nature,  shrank  from  asking  aid  of  her  unnatural 
relative. 

Yet,  as  she  felt  herself  descending  into  the  "  val- 


HOME    CHARACTERS.  13 

ley  of  the  shadow,"  when  she  saw  the  troubled 
waters  of  Jordan  at  her  very  feet,  and  thought  of 
her  helpless  orphan  Alice,  she  was  constrained  to 
make  one  last  appeal. 

Very  great  was  Mrs.  Whiting's  consternation  upon 
the  receipt  of  her  sister's  letter.  If  she  refused  her 
child  a  home,  society  would  condemn  her ;  and  Mrs. 
Whiting  was  a  fashionable,  heartless  woman  of  the 
world,  and  an  utter  slave  to  its  opinion.  But  her 
husband's  more  feeling  heart  had  been  touched. 
Away  down  in  the  depths  of  that  proud  man's 
heart,  there  were  some  healthful  springs  which  the 
hot  breath  of  worldliness  had  not  yet  dried  up  ;  the 
rock  had  been  touched,  and  the  waters  gushed 
forth.  And  he  mentally  resolved  that  he  would 
bring  the  little  orphan  to  his  home,  and  love  her  as 
his  own. 

Alice  never  forgot  the  deep,  earnest  tones  of  her 
mother's  voice,  nor  the  soft  pressure  of  her  hand 
upon  her  head,  as  she  pronounced  her  dying  blessing 
upon  her.  And  it  may  be  pardoned  Mr.  Whiting 
if  a  few  soul-felt  tears  stole  down  his  cheeks,  when, 
with  all  a  mother's  careful  solicitude,  she  commended 
Alice  to  his  love,  and  prayed  him  to  keep  her  "  pure 
and  unspotted  from  the  world." 

But  it  is  true  that  we  are  more  or  less  influenced 
by  our  surroundings ;  and  could  that  anxious  mother 
have  known  the  unhealthy  moral  atmosphere  her 
child  would  breathe,  and  the  hourly  trials  of  temper 


14  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

to  which  she  must  be  subjected,  she  might  well 
have  trembled.  For,  oh!  how  different  was  the 
home  of  the  millionaire,  with  its  luxury,  pride,  and 
discontent,  from  the  little  brown  cottage  of  the  car 
penter,  which  once  echoed  to  the  cheerful  song  of 
labor,  and  to  the  words  of  thanksgiving  and  praise. 

So  thought  Alice,  as  she  sat  in  her  uncle's  ele 
gant  parlor,  on  that  rainy  November  evening,  just 
five  years  from  the  time  of  her  mother's  death. 
The  heavy  curtains  had  been  drawn  before  the  bay- 
windows,  the  anthracite  glowed  cheerfully  in  the 
grate.  It  was  that  dusky  time,  between  daylight 
and  evening,  when  one  loves  to  dream  by  the  dancing 
firelight ;  and  the  members  of  Mr.  Whiting's  family 
were  enjoying  it  in  their  own  peculiar  way. 

Alice,  entirely  hidden  from  view  by  the  window- 
curtains,  had  her  face  pressed  close  to  the  glass,  and 
was  trying,  by  the  uncertain  light,  to  finish  the  page 
she  was  reading,  or  anon  glancing  among  the  gath 
ering  shadows  for  the  coming  of  her  uncle ;  for 
Alice  loved  him  with  a  sincere  affection,  and  had 
learned  to  watch  eagerly  for  his  returning  foot 
steps. 

She  had  an  interesting  face,  although  one  at  first 
sight  would  not  call  her  beautiful.  Her  brow  was 
high  and  open,  with  a  look  of  frankness.  Her  eyes 
were  a  clear  hazel,  and  her  hair  a  wavy  chestnut 
color,  which  clustered  in  short  ringlets  around  her 
neck.  Her  features  were  clearly  defined,  and  a  nose, 


HOME    CHARACTERS.  15 

whose  contour  was  decidedly  Roman,  gave  a  look 
of  much  character  to  her  face.  Added  to  this,  her 
mouth  was  marked  by  lines,  half  of  firmness,  half 
of  sweetness,  and  was  constantly  changing  in  its 
expression.  Strangers  always  looked  at  her  twice, 
as  if  something  new  attracted  them  each  time. 

Before  the  fire,  in  a  luxurious  rocking-chair,  sat 
Mrs.  Whiting,  still  a  prey  to  the  ennui  of  the  morn 
ing.  An  expression  of  fretfulness  was  upon  her 
face,  which  should  have  been  lighted  up  with  a  smile 
of  contentment,  for  of  all  earthly  comforts  there 
was  not  one  she  lacked.  But  — 

"  Who  can  minister  to  a  mind  diseased  ?  " 

With  all  her  blessings,  Mrs.  Whiting  believed  her 
self  the  victim  of  all  sorts  of  evils.  "  No  one  sym 
pathized  with  her  feelings."  Her  husband  seldom 
sought  her  society.  Her  children  were  ungrateful, 
her  servants  untrustworthy ;  and  she,  as  she  de 
clared  herself,  was  "  completely  borne  down  by  the 
burden  of  domestic  cares." 

The  fact  was,  Mrs.  Whiting  was  eminently  self 
ish  ;  and,  in  her  complaining  moods,  she  seldom 
thought  that  she  made  no  eiforts  to  please  her  hus 
band  ;  taught  her  children  no  principles  of  right 
and  duty,  which  should  lead  them  to  respect  and 
honor  her ;  and  seldom  vouchsafed  a  kind  word  to 
her  servants,  to  render  them  respectful  and  obe 
dient. 


16  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

Upon  this  day,  in  particular,  every  thing  had  com 
bined  to  try  her  patience  and  temper.  The  rain 
had  prevented  a  visit  of  a  few  of  her  "  choice 
friends ; "  her  head  ached  unmercifully ;  and  she 
had  been  obliged  to  visit  the  kitchen  twice,  to  hasten 
the  dilatory  servants,  and  to  enforce  her  orders. 

"  Fred,"  said  she,  as  the  servant  who  had  lit  the 
gas  retired,  "  has  Ada  returned  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  mamma ;  and  it's  after  seven.  What  can 
be  the  reason  ?  " 

"  It's  just  as  I  supposed,"  answered  Mrs.  Whiting; 
"  that  rascally  coachman  didn't  go  for  her.  He  said 
he  should  not.  But  I  did  not  think  he  would  dare 
disobey,  after  what  I  said  to  him." 

"  But,  mother,  what  could  be  the  reason  John  did 
not  do  as  you  bid  him  ?  "  asked  Fred. 

"  Oh  !  he  had  a  nice  long  story  about  his  father's 
being  sick,  and  he  must  needs  go  and  see  him  this 
very  night.  And,  when  I  urged  the  necessity  of 
Miss  Ada's  coming  home  to-night,  he  answered, 
that  it  was  a  case  of  life  and  death,  —  he  must  go." 

"Of  course  you  did  not  urge  him  after  that, 
mother  !  " 

"  Of  course  I  should  not,  if  it  had  been  any  trust 
worthy  person,"  answered  his  mother,  with  a  little 
secret  complacency  at  seeing  so  readily  into  the 
character  of  her  servants,  "  of  course  not ;  but  then 
one  never  knows  when  to  believe  these  people.  I 
dare  say  there  was  some  frolic  he  wanted  to  attend. 


HOME    CHARACTERS.  17 

And  I  told  him  he  should  certainly  be  discharged  if 
he  dared  disobey  my  commands." 

Fred  wisely  forebore  to  say  any  thing ;  but  he 
mentally  resolved  that  he  would  plead  John's  case 
with  his  father,  if  the  worst  should  come  to  the 
worst. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,"  he  answered,  "  John  has 
not  been ;  for  I've  just  come  from  the  stable,  and 
the  horses  have  not  been  out  of  their  stalls  this 
afternoon ;  so  I  will  harness  up  the  pony,  and  go  in 
the  chaise  after  Ada." 

Alice  heard  the  words  of  her  aunt  with  fear  and 
trembling,  lest  her  threats  should  be  carried  into 
execution.  Of  a  sweet  and  winning  temper,  and 
gifted  with  a  large  sympathy,  she  ever  participated 
in  the  sorrows  of  those  around  her.  On  this  after 
noon  she  had  gone  to  the  kitchen  to  give  John  his 
customary  lesson  in  reading,  and  to  point  out  some 
precious  passages  from  the  Bible,  She  had  heard 
the  altercation  between  her  aunt  and  him,  and  wit 
nessed  his  anguish  and  despair  when  she  refused  his 
request. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Alice  !  "  he  groaned,  "  what  shall  I 
do  ?  My  father  is  just  alive  !  I  must  see  him  once 
more,  and  I  cannot  lose  my  place." 

"  Poor  John,"  said  Alice,  —  all  her  sympathies 
speaking  in  her  voice,  —  "I  am  so  sorry  for  you! 
I  will  ask  aunt  to  forgive  you.  Put  your  trust  in 


18  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

God.  He  has  promised  to  make  all  things  work 
together  for  good  to  them  that  love  Him." 

Many  were  the  warnings  given  John  by  the  ser 
vants  in  case  he  should  disobey.  But  filial  love  tri 
umphed  over  self-interest,  and  he  went. 

Alice  had  become  very  much  interested  for  him. 
"  How  should  I  feel/'  thought  she,  "  if  my  father 
were  dying,  and  I  could  not  perform  for  him  the  last 
offices  of  love  ?  "  But  the  task  of  Alice  was  harder 
than  she  had  thought.  She  had  invented  all  sorts 
of  excuses  for  lingering  in  her  aunt's  room,  fearing 
to  approach  the  subject.  Never  at  any  time  feeling 
free  in  her  presence,  now  dreading  her  displeasure, 
—  a  wall  of  fear  and  coldness  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  risen  up  between  them.  Several  times  she  at 
tempted  to  speak,  but  failed  of  utterance.  The 
evening  found  John's  absence  discovered,  and  her 
appeal  unmade.  "  I  will  wait  till  Uncle  William 
comes  home,"  thought  she,  "  and  that  will  be  better 
still." 


CHAPTER   in. 

THE     THREE     WISHES. 

THE  click  of  the  night-lock  was  heard  in  the  front 
door,  and  with  a  few  of  Mr.  Whiting's  brisk  steps 
he  had  passed  through  the  hall,  and  entered  the 
drawing-room. 

"  Ugh ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  spread  out  his 
hands  before  the  fire,  "  they  do  say,  wife,  that  this 
is  the  most  stormy  November  within  the  memory  of 
the  oldest  citizen.  But  come,  Lizzie,"  he  added, 
"  take  your  father's  wet  coat  down  to  the  kitchen, 
and  let  it  dry." 

"  I'll  ring  for  Nctta,  father  ?  "  said  Lizzie  inquir 
ingly,  moving  towards  the  bell  rope. 

"No,  no,  child  !  "  but,  before  Mr.  Whiting  could 
finish,  Alice  sprang  eagerly  forward,  — 

"  O  uncle !  let  me.  I  would  be  so  pleased  to 
go!" 

As  Alice's  light  footstep  was  heard  departing  on 
her  errand,  the  careworn  father  turned  towards  his 
daughter  with  a  sad  smile,  — 

"  I  thought  you  would  like  to  do  me  this  small 
favor,  my  child." 

«  But,  father,"  said  Lizzie  deprecatingly,  "  I  was 
busy ;  and  besides  it  is  so  unpleasant  to  perform 
such  menial  offices." 


THE   THREE   WISHES.  2 

"  It  is  never  menial  to  minister  to  the  happiness  or 
comfort  of  those  we  love,"  said  Mr.  Whiting. 

It  was  not  the  fault  of  Lizzie's  heart  so  much  as 
of  her  education,  that  she  gave  this  unfeeling  reply. 
Her  father  felt  this,  and  once  more  resolved  within 
himself  that  Alice  and  Ada  should  never  receive  a 
fashionable  education.  The  idea  that  her  father 
would  have  been  pleased  if  she  had  shown  him  this 
slight  attention  never  seemed  to  enter  her  head ;  but 
she  turned  again  to  her  worsted-work,  slowly  bring 
ing  out  the  tomb  of  Napoleon,  under  a  very  green 
and  very  drooping  willow. 

But,  besides  Alice's  natural  kindliness  of  heart, 
another  thing  prompted  her  to  visit  the  kitchen. 
She  wanted  to  see  her  uncle  alone,  and  thought  this 
would  be  a  favorable  opportunity  for  escaping  from 
the  parlor. 

Accordingly,  when  Mr.  Whiting  went  down  to 
tea,  he  found  his  niece  in  the  dining-room  ready  to 
receive  him. 

"Well,  little  Miss  Sobriety,"  said  her  uncle, 
"  what  brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  had  something  to  tell  you,  Uncle  William." 

"  So-ho !  you  did !  and  what  may  your  august 
pleasure  be  ?  Come,  I  will  be  your  good  fairy,  and 
for  the  favor  you  did  me  will  grant  you  any  three 
wishes  you  may  make." 

"  Will  you  ?  Are  you  really  in  earnest,  Uncle 
William  ?  "  cried  Alice  in  delight. 


%%  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"  Take  care,  Alice ;  no  true  fairy  ever  allows  his 
word  to  be  doubted,"  said  Mr.  "Whiting  with  playful 
dignity.  "  Yes,  I  will  grant  you  any  request  wxthin 
the  scope  of  my  magic." 

Alice's  first  request  was  different  from  what  her 
uncle  had  expected.  Fred  had  been  as  good  as  his 
word,  and  told  his  father  of  Alice's  hopes  ancl  pro 
jects  ;  and  he  had  thought  that  her  first  request 
would  be,  that  she  might  be  sent  to  school.  When, 
therefore,  with  half-childish  eloquence,  she  told  the 
story  of  poor  John,  and  poured  forth  an  appeal  in 
his  behalf,  her  uncle  looked  at  her  in  surprise  and 
admiration. 

Alice's  face  was  not  one  ytou  would  have  called 
beautiful  in  repose  ;  but  when,  as  nowj  the  soul  shone 
through  and  irradiated  it,  it  endowed  her  with  that 
higher  beauty,  —  the  beauty  of  expression. 

A  tear  stole  down  her  cheek,  and  she  looked  at 
her  uncle  beseechingly,  as  she  said,  "  You'll  forgive 
John  this  time,  wont  you,  dear  uncle  ?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  do,  I  suppose,  to  resist  such  skilful 
pleading.  But  why  should  you  care  about  John  ? 
What  worked  your  little  heart  up  to  such  a  pitch  of 
sympathy  ?  " 

"  Why  you  know,  uncle,  John  is  so  clever,  and 
so  grateful  if  any  one  does  any  thing  for  him  ;  and 
he's  pious  too,  —  he  loves  dearly  to  hear  the  Bible 
read.  And  do  you  know  I'm  teaching  him  to  read, 
so  that  he  can  enjoy  it  all  the  time  ?  " 


THE    THREE    WISHES.  £3 

Mr.  Whitiug's  conscience  smote  him  ;  for  he  knew 
that  in  his  family  the  Bible,  of  all  books,  was  least 
read.  But  Alice  continued,  — 

"  And  another  thing,  uncle  :  you  know  we  should 
always  be  kind  to  the  poor.  And  I  couldn't  help 
loving  John,  and  feeling  sorry  for  him,  as  he  sat 
there  so  desolate,  and  his  father  dying  not  a  stone's- 
throw  from  the  house." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  it  was  so  ?  Perhaps  John 
made  up  that  story  to  get  off.  How's  that  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Uncle  William  !  he  told  the  truth.  I 
am  sure  of  it,  for  I  could  see  it  in  his  eyes." 

"  Well,  well,  Puss !  You'll  learn  the  ways  of 
the  world  soon  enough.  But  what  do  you  think 
aunt  would  say  to  this  ?  " 

"  Would  she  be  very  much  displeased,  do  you 
think  ?  Oh,  uncle  !  I  didn't  tell  John  to  go  ;  but  I 
pitied  him  very  much,  and  I  told  him  I  would  ask 
Aunt  Emily  to  forgive  him.  Was  I  very  wrong  ? 
I  meant  to  do  right." 

Mr.  Whiting  could  not  answer.  More  melting 
than  any  pleading  was  this  childish  love  and  sympa 
thy.  Involuntarily  he  drew  her  closer,  and  realized 
more  and  more  how  dear  she  had  grown  to  him. 

"  But  come,  my  dear,"  he  said ;  "  let's  have  the 
second  wish.  It's  time  you  thought  of  yourself." 

This  time  Mr.  Whiting's  expectations  were  fully 
met.  Alice  acknowledged  her  longing  for  know 
ledge  ;  her  wish  to  go  to  school ;  and  her  hope  to 


24  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

become  a  teacher,  that  she  mig%t  make  herself  in 
dependent  of  the  world,  and  by  the  cultivation  of 
her  talents  render  herself  of  active  use  to  those 
around  her. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  responded.  "  Nothing  will 
be  of  so  much  value  to  you.  "Wealth  weighs  no 
thing  in  the  balance.  He  who  is  morally  and  intel 
lectually  great  is  the  peer  of  kings  ;  and  no  man 
shall  say  to  him,  '  I  am  greater  than  thou.' ' 

"  I  know,  my  dear  uncle,"  said  Alice,  "  that  you 
have  done  every  thing  for  me,  —  fed  and  clothed  me 
all  these  long  five  years ;  and  I  thought  if  I  could  be  a 
teacher  I  might  repay  you  a  part  of  your  kindness." 

t(  Say  no  more,  Alice  ;  you  shall  go.  I  had  al 
ready  made  arrangements  to  send  you  and  Ada  to 
school,  and  you  will  commence  early  next  month. 
There,  there !  "  he  added,  as  Alice  covered  his  face 
with  kisses,  "  don't  eat  me  up !  All  I  ask  of  you  is, 
that  you  will  improve  your  time,  and  repay  me  by 
your  industry  and  good  conduct." 

Alice  took  her  uncle's  hand ;  and,  as  they  left  the 
dining-room,  he  said  to  her,  — 

"But,  my  dear,  you  have  forgotten  your  third 
wish.  What  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  uncle,"  replied  Alice  hesita 
tingly,  "I  don't  know,  —  unless  it  be  that  you  and 
Aunt  Emily  and  my  cousins  would  love  me  more  ; 
and  that  our  Heavenly  Father  may  bless  you  for 
your  goodness,  and  make  me  worthy  of  it." 


THE    THREE   WISHES.  25 

There  was  an  unusual  moisture  in  Mr.  Whiting's 
eyes,  and  he  patted  Alice's  shoulder  approvingly. 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,"  he  said,  "  and  deserve  to  be 
loved  as  you  are.  If  you  don't  think  of  any  thing 
you  would  like  to-night,  you  can  wait  till  to-morrow, 
and  tell  me  then.  Come,  here  we  are  at  the  door  ;  " 
and  he  turned  the  knob,  and  entered  the  drawing- 
room. 

Mrs.  Whiting  half  roused  herself  from  her  doze, 
and  asked  her  husband  what  had  kept  him  so  long. 

Fred  and  Ada  had  returned.  The  evening  it 
seems  found  Fred  with  his  appetite  for  fun  in  no 
way  diminished.  He  sat  on  a  low  stool  behind 
Lizzie's  chair,  slyly  tying  together  the  ends  of  her 
balls  of  worsted,  and  watching  for  an  opportunity  to 
fix  a  noose  around  her  foot,  knowing  it  would  annoy 
her  in  case  she  should  rise. 

Ada  sat  at  the  piano,  idly  thrumming  away  upon 
the  keys.  Her  mind  was  wholly  occupied  with 
thoughts  of  Lily  Cushing's  farewell  party,  which 
was  to  be  given  on  the  eve  of  her  departure  for 
school.  When  Alice  came  in,  she  stopped  playing, 
and  commenced  talking  to  her.  Alice  was  obliged, 
for  the  next  half  hour,  to  listen  to  an  extended 
account  of  all  the  arrangements,  and  answer  Ada's 
hundred  and  one  questions. 

"  You  can't  imagine,  Alice,"  said  Ada,  "  what  a 
splendid  affair  it  is  going  to  be.  There  are  to  be 
tables  set  in  Mrs.  Cushing's  long  hall,  with  black 


£6  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

waiters  to  tend  them  ;  and  the  invitations  are  to  be 
written  on  the  finest  gilt-edged  paper,  with  per 
fumed  envelopes.  The  company  are  to  be  very 
select  and  recherche"  —  Ada  had  a  smattering  of 
bad  French, — "  and  I've  no  doubt  the  dresses  will  be 
elegant.  You  ought  to  see  Lily's.  It's  a  beautiful 
rose-colored  satin,  with  a  white  overdress,  trimmed 
with  the  most  expensive  Valenciennes  lace.  What 
shall  I  wear  for  a  dress,  Alice  ?  I  hope  pa'll  get 
me  something  splendid.  What  do  you  think  of  it, 
Cousin  Alice  ?  Don't  you  wish  you  were  going  ? 
Perhaps  I'll  ask  Lily  to  give  you  an  invitation," 
said  the  condescending  Ada. 

"  Eeally,  Cousin  Ada,  I  don't  know  which  of  your 
questions  to  answer.  I  think  it  is  all  very  fine,  and 
I  should  like  to  go  very  much ;  but  you  know  L  am 
quite  a  novice  in  company,  —  I  never  attended  a  fa 
shionable  party  in  my  life." 

"  But  for  all  that,"  exclaimed  Fred,  "  there  would 
not  be  one  there  who  could  match  our  Alice  ;  for  she 
possesses  the  secret  of  all  true  politeness." 

"  And,  pray,  what  may  that  be  ?  "  said  Lizzie. 

"  The  beauty  of  a  refined  mind,  tempered  by  a 
loving-kindness  to  every  one." 

"  Quite  a  poetical  definition.  What  a  pity  Master 
Fred  Whiting  didn't  practise  that  kind  of  polite 
ness  ! " 

"  I  do,  in  spirit,  sister ;  but  my  love  of  fun  pre 
vents  the  fulfilment  of  the  letter." 


THE   THREE    WISHES.  27 

"  A  poor  excuse  is  better  than  none,  I've  heard. 
For  my  part,  I  don't  think  natural  qualities  of  mind 
and  heart  ever  made  up  for  a  fashionable  education 
and  advantages." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Alice  ? "  said  her 
uncle,  playfully ;  for  she  had  been  looking  into  the 
fire  very  steadily  for  the  last  few  minutes. 

"It  is  just  five  years,  to-night,  since  mother 
died,"  said  Alice. 

"  My  poor  child !  How  thoughtless  in  me  not  to 
remember  it ! "  Then,  drawing  his  chair  closer  to 
his  niece,  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  Do  you  remember,  my  dear,  the  night  of  your 
mother's  death  ?  With  her  last  breath,  she  prayed 
me  to  keep  you  'pure  and  unspotted  from  the 
world  ; '  and  invoked  a  blessing  upon  you. 

"  But  I  fear  she  placed  her  dependence  upon  a 
broken  reed ;  for  I  was  too  much  £  man  of  the 
world,  and  could  spare  no  time  for  the  moral  im 
provement  of  myself  or  family.  You  are  old 
enough  now,  Alice,  to  understand  these  things. 
Your  mother  meant  that  you  should  be  a  useful 
Christian  woman,  who  should  make  the  world  better 
for  her  having  lived  in  it.  I  wish  to  see  you  fulfil 
ling  her  desire.  With  industry,  and  a  high  courage, 
you  can  perform  the  allotted  work." 

"  And  with  the  help  of  God,"  said  Alice,  reve 
rently. 

"  Of  course,  under  the  direction  and  blessing  of 


28  THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

Providence."  But  Alice  sighed ;  for  she  knew  that 
her  uncle,  with  all  his  riches,  turned  away  from 
those  "  unspeakable  riches "  which  are  the  best 
inheritance  of  the  poor.  Truly  the  Word  says, 
"  There  is  that  maketh  himself  rich,  yet  hath 
nothing;  there  is  that  maketh  himself  poor,  yet 
hath  great  riches."  • 

It  was  a  long  time,  that  night,  before  Alice 
closed  her  eyes  in  sleep.  A  new  future  had  opened 
before  her,  and  she  caught  glimpses  of  a  brighter 
day.  And  when,  at  last,  sleep  descended  like  a 
benediction  upon  her,  it  brought  to  her  pillow  only 
dreams  tinged  with  the  rose-hue  of  happiness  and 
of  hope. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

LILT. 

THE  winter  term,  at  Newton  Seminary,  com 
menced  early  in  December;  and  it  was  now  the 
middle  of  November.  Mrs.  Whiting  had  reluct 
antly  consented  that  the  girls  should  attend  a  plain 
New  England  school,  though  she  had  strongly 
urged  that  Ada  should  attend  a  French  Boarding 
School.  But  her  husband  was  firm.  There  was 
much  hurry  and  bustle  all  over  the  house,  for  the 
wardrobe  of  the  girls  was  to  be  prepared  for  a  long 
absence  from  home.  Ada  had  been  reconciled  to 
the  idea  of  a  country  school,  as  she  called  it,  by 
learning  that  Lily  Gushing  was  to  attend  the  same 
one  ;  and  Alice  was  as  happy  as  possible  in  the  ful 
filment  of  her  dreams.  She  had  already  imagined 
the  appearance  of  the  seminary,  built  a  thousand 
air-castles,  and  resolved  on  many  a  plan  for  her 
future  course.  The  time  also  drew  near  for  Fred  to 
return  to  his  school.  It  would  be  his  last  term 
before  entering  college. 

Black  John,  the  coachman,  still  remained  with 
the  family ;  for,  to  do  Mrs.  Whiting  justice,  she  had 
not  thought  his  father  was  sick,  when  she  threat 
ened  him  with  dismissal. 

One  day,  as  Alice  was  preparing  for  dinner,  she 


30  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

heard  Ada  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  calling  to 
her, — 

"  Only  look,  Alice,"  said  Ada ;  "  did  you  ever 
see  any  thing  half  so  beautiful  as  this  silk  ?  Mother 
bought  it  for  us  to  wear  to  Lily  Cushing's  party. 
You  and  I  are  to  have  every  thing  alike;  for  I 
heard  father  tell  mother  he  wanted  there  should  be 
no  difference  between  us.  You  know  I  went  with 
mother  this  morning ;  and,  on  the  way  home,  we 
drove  round  by  Mrs.  Cushing's,  and  Lily's  party  is 
to  be  given  next  week.  The  invitations  for  you 
and  I  came  this  morning." 

Thus  Ada  chattered  on,  unconscious  that  her 
words  had  sunk  below  the  surface  of  her  cousin's 
heart.  But  Alice  stood  in  what  Fred  would  have 
called  a  "dark-brown  study,"  thinking  of  all  the 
blessings  that  were  heaped  upon  her,  and  wondering 
if  any  man  ever  lived  who  was  so  good  as  her  own 
Uncle  "William.  But  she  had  been  taught  by  a 
pious  mother  that  every  good  and  perfect  gift 
cometh  from  above ;  and  she  knew  that  it  was  His 
fatherly  hand  which  smoothed  the  pathway  of  the 
fatherless,  and  tempered  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb. 

But  it  is  time  that  we  should  say  something  of 
Ada's  friend,  Lily  Gushing.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  a  lawyer,  eminent  for  his  talents  and  business 
abilities.  In  wealth  they  were  the  equals  of  Mr. 
Whiting's  family,  but  in  tastes,  habits,  and  princi 
ples  very  opposite.  Mr.  Gushing  was  a  man  of 


LILY.  31 

large  and  liberal  views,  of  an  active  benevolence, 
and  of  sound  principles,  whose  fountain-head  was 
found  in  the  Word  of  God.  He  believed  that  his 
wealth  was  given  him  that  he  might  enlarge  his 
sphere  of  benevolence ;  and,  as  a  faithful  steward, 
he  dispensed  of  his  bounty  to  the  poor,  hoping  for 
nothing  again. 

Alice  had  been  with  Ada  many  times  when  she 
had  visited  her  friend.  She  loved  the  quiet  home- 
feeling  which  pervaded  the  house,  —  the  warmth 
which  was  never  found  in  the  spacious  halls  of  her 
own  home.  There  was  no  rigid  ceremony,  no  freez 
ing  politeness,  but  perfect  good-breeding  and  refine 
ment.  She  loved  Lily's  gentle  mother  too,  for  she 
made  her  think  of  her  own. 

Lily  was  fourteen  years  old,  and  was  a  most  sensi 
tive  and  shrinking  child.  Her  disposition  was  sweet, 
and  her  temper  mild.  Alice  and  Ada  thought  they 
had  never  seen  any  one  so  lovely.  She  was  the 
idol  of  her  parents;  and  Mrs.  Gushing  had  often 
said  she  feared  her  love  for  her  was  too  passionate, 
and  that  she  might  be  weaned  from  it  by  the  re 
moval  of  its  object.  Not  only  was  Lily  beautiful  in 
mind,  but  she  united  with  this  those  personal  graces 
which  win  the  praise  of  the  world,  and  attract  the 
eye  of  admiration.  But  Lily  was  one  of  those 
beings  who  are  in  the  world,  and  yet  not  of  it.  She 
was  full  of  that  charity  which  "  thinketh  no  evil ;  " 
and  it  seemed  as  if  flattery  came  to  her  not  so  much 


32  THE   SHEAVES   OP   LOVE. 

to  degrade  as  to  make  her  white  soul  seem  "whiter 
still,  in  contrast  to  its  own  deformity. 

As  we  have  said,  she  was  very  prepossessing  in 
appearance.  Her  complexion  was  very  fair;  her 
hair  -  of  that  color  so  aptly  described  as  "  brown  in 
the  shadow,  and  golden  in  the  sun."  Her  eyes 
were  blue,  and  her  whole  face  radiant  with  an  ex 
pression  of  love  and  goodness. 

There  are  some  faces  which  we  look  upon  ta  ven 
erate  ;  but  Lily's  was  one  to  love.  It  is  true,  such 
spirits  seldom  visit  our  earth ;  but  they  show  us 
how  pure  our  natures  may  be.  They  come  to  us 
like  ministering  angels,  to  lift  us  up  as  by  a 
heavenly  vision;  to  wipe  off  with  the  sweep  of 
their  white  garments  the  earth-dust  of  worldliness 
and  care. 


CHAPTER  V. 
LILT'S    PARTY. 

ON  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Libr's  party 
was  to  be  given,  Mr.  Whiting  called  Alice  into  his 
library.  "  My  dear  child,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been 
waiting  for  you  to  tell  me  your  '  third  wish.' 
You  know  you  were  to  think  of  it,  and  tell  me 
what  you  liked  best.  Have  you  come  to  any  de 
cision  ?  " 

"  Why  no,  uncle  !  Don't  you  remember  I  made 
it  at  the  time  ?  I  wished  that  you  would  all  love 
me ;  and  1  am  very  sure  my  wish  is  coming  to 
pass." 

"  We  have  always  loved  you,  Alice  ;  but  such 
good  conduct  as  yours  deserves  some  visible  re 
ward  ;  "  and  Mr.  Whiting  threw  round  her  neck  a 
fine  chain,  with  a  gold  watch  attached.  "  I  want, 
Alice,  that  you  should  prize  this  gift,  not  only  for  its 
utility,  but  for  the  lesson  of  life  it  teaches.  Re 
member,  that,  every  time  this  hand  marks  the  hour, 
another  hand  is  going  round  upon  the  dial  of  your 
Life-clock,  marking  your  deeds,  *  whether  they  be 
good,  or  whether  they  be  evil.'  Try,  my  child, 
to  think  of  these  things  :  it  is  my  great  regret  that  I 
have  put  them  far  from  me." 

Alice  said  nothing  ;   but  her  arm  stole  round  her 

2* 


34  THE   SHEAVES   OF   LOVE. 

uncle's  neck,  and  there  was  the  sound  of  tears  in 
her  voice  when  at  last  she  thanked  and  kissed  him, 
— "  I  will  keep  your  gift,  dear  uncle ;  and  its  cease 
less  *  tick-tick '  shall  remind  me  of  the  never-end 
ing  debt  of  gratitude  and  love  I  owe  you." 

All  y^is  time  a  very  different  scene  was  being 
enacted  in  the  drawing-room.  Lizzie  was  giving 
Ada  her  instructions  for  the  evening.  "  Be  careful, 
Ada,"  said  her  sister,  "  that  you  do  not  laugh  aloud, 
for  it  is  excessively  vulgar.  And,  when  you  shake 
hands,  present  only  two  fingers,  and  bow  slightly. 
You  are  so  little  accustomed  to  society,  that  I  am 
afraid  you  will  be  rude.  At  any  rate,  do  just  as  you 
see  fashionable  people  do,  and  you  can't  help  being 
right.  But,  above  all,  don't  cultivate  the  acquaint 
ance  of  anybody  who  is  not  well  dressed  and 
genteel.  You  are  handsome  and  entertaining, 
and  need  not  go  a  begging  for  friends." 

And  thus  did  this  thoughtless  sister  infuse  a 
moral  poison  into  that  young  heart.  Ada  was 
naturally  proud  and  overbearing,  and  should  have 
been  encouraged  to  be  kind  and  self-sacrificing 
to  others. 

"  Am  I  handsome  ?  "  thought  Ada,  as  she  looked 
in  her  glass,  for  the  hundredth  time  that  day.  Hei 
mirror  told  a  flattering  tale,  as  it  reflected  back  the 
clear  complexion,  glossy  hair,  sparkling  eyes,  and 
rosy  cheeks  of  the  young  inquirer.  But  vanity  is 
never  contented  with  this  silent  testimony ;  it  wants 


LILY'S  PARTY.  35 

X 

to  hear  of  its  charms  from  the  lips  of  others.  u  No 
body  tells  me  I  am  good-looking,"  said  she  aloud. 
"  I  am  going  down  to  ask  mother  what  she  thinks  ; " 
and  the  embryo  belle  ran  down-stairs  into  the 
drawing-room.  But  no  one  was  there,  save  Alice, 
who  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  mending  an  article  of 
dress. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  pretty,  Alice  ?  "  said  Ada, 
impetuously. 

"  Why  yes,  cousin,  quite.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  Lizzie  told  me  so ;  and  I  wanted  to 
know  what  you  thought.  I  wonder  why  people 
don't  tell  me  so  to  my  face." 

"But  that  would  be  flattery ;  and  flattery  is 
always  suspicious.  Your  false  friends  will  tell  you 
of  your  good  looks,  when  they  have  an  advantage  to 
gain.  For  my  part,  I  love  you  best  when  you  are 
good-natured  and  generous,  and  don't  care  a  snap 
for  your  good  looks." 

"  Well,  there's  precious  little  comfort  in  you, 
Alice  Morton,"  said  Ada ;  and  she  ran  to  find  her 
mother. 

But  her  mother's  thoughts  were  preoccupied 
with  a  fresh  novel ;  and  there  was  no  time  to 
attend  to  the  spiritual  needs  of  her  child.  So  to 
her  teasing  her  mother  answered,  "  Yes,  dear,  very 
handsome ! "  and  sunk  deeper  than  ever  in  her 
reading.  And  thus  the  good  seed  remained  un 
sown. 


36  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

How  different  were  Alice's  thoughts,  as  she  pre 
pared  for  the  party  that  night !  She  was  thinking 
of  her  mother's  counsels,  when  she  had  attended  a 
party  once  before.  "  My  dear  child,"  said  that  wise 
mother,  "  I  will  give  you  one  rule,  which  shall  be 
a  sure  guide  for  your  conduct,  —  the  secret  of 
true  politeness  is  true  kindness.  If  your  heart  is 
filled  with  love  for  your  fellow-men,  you  cannot 
fail  to  inspire  them  with  respect  for  you.  And  let 
your  thoughts  and  actions  be  natural ;  act  your 
self.  The  imitator  either  falls  short  of  his  model, 
or  ridiculously  overacts  his  part."  Alice  loved  to 
remember  these  sayings,  and  apply  them  to  her  pre 
sent  needs ;  indeed  she  ever  strove  to  regulate  her 
conduct  as  she  thought  her  mother  wouM  have  ap 
proved.  Let  us  leave  the  girls  to  their  preparations, 
and  find  our  old  friend  Fred. 

He  had  gone  to  the  stables  to  order  the  carriage, 
and  was  now  having  an  animated  conversation  with 
Sam,  the  stable-boy. 

This  Sam  was  about  twelve  years  old,  —  a  farm- 
bred  Yankee,  —  and  given  to  white-lying  of  the 
darkest  shade.  Fred  called  him,  familiarly,  "  Sam 
Patch." 

"  Don't  you  think  I  am  irresistible,  Sam  ?  "  said 
Fred,  as  he  stroked  the  place  on  his  chin  where  his 
whiskers  would  be,  if  he  had  any. 

" Don't  understand  your  French;  but,  if  that 
long  word  means  slick,  must  say  as  how  I  do." 


LILY'S  PARTY.  37 

"  Now  look  here,  Sam  Patch,  I  want  to  know 
where  my  pearl-handed  whip  is." 

"  Dunno'  nothin'  'bout  it,"  said  Sam,  looking  very 
innocent.  This  whip  was  a  present  from  a  friend,  and 
Fred  valued  it  highly.  It  had  suddenly  disappeared ; 
and,  knowing  Sam's  thieving  propensities,  Fred  was 
bound,  as  he  expressed  it,  to  have  it  out  of  him. 

"  You'd  better  own  up.  I'll  knock  you  into  the 
middle  of  next  week,  if  I  find  out  you've  been  fib 
bing  about  this.  You  know  where  that  whip  is." 

"  Hope  to  die  if  I  do !  "  and  Sarn  crossed  his 
hands  upon  his  breast,  and  looked  up  with  mock 
solemnity  in  the  direction  of  the  stars. 

Finding  threatening  would  not  avail,  Fred  changed 
his  tactics.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  what  an 
extra  joke  it  would  be  to  take  Sam  with  him  to 
the  party  that  night.  "  How  it  would  shock  Miss 
Ada,  and  my  proper  little  cousin,"  thought  he. 
"  Done  !  I'll  promise  Sam  that  he  shall  go,  if  he'll 
own  up  about  that  whip." 

"  I  say,  Sam,  did  you  ever  go  to  a  party  ?  " 

"Used  to  go  to  apple-parings  and  sewing-bees, 
when  I  was  to  home,  if  that's  what  you  mean. 
Don't  have  no  such  good  times  now.  Don't  see 
nothiu'  but  work  an'  nasty  hosses  from  mornin'  till 
night." 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  an  apple-paring  to-night, 
and  if  you'll  own  up  about  that  whip  I'll  let  you  go 
with  me." 


38  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"  Told  you  I  didn't  know  nothin'  'bout  it,"  said 
Sam  doggedly.  "  And  then  I  haint  got  nothin'  to 
wear,  if  I  did  go." 

"  I'll  lend  you  my  black  necktie  and  my  patent- 
leather  boots." 

"Will  you?  Wish  I'd  stole  that  whip,  so's  I 
could  tell  where  'tis." 

"And  I'll  give  you  my  last ' summer's  jacket, 
with  shiny  buttons,"  added  Fred. 

What  farm-boy,  who  had  never  worn  any  thing 
but  coarse  garments  made  up  at  home,  could  resist 
such  a  temptation  ?  For  once  in  his  life,  Sam  was 
strongly  inclined  to  tell  the  truth. 

"  I  guess,"  said  he,  "  Black  John  must  have 
taken  it ;  for  t'other  day,  as  I  was  sweepin'  out  old 
Billy's  stall,  I  happened  to  look  up  at  the  eaves,  and 
I  seed  suthin'  stickin'  out  that  looked  'xactly  like 
the  butt  end  of  that  whip." 

Sure  enough,  as  they  looked  up,  they  could 
plainly  see  the  handle  of  the  lost  whip. 

"You  see,"  said  Sam,  venturing  to  break  the 
ominous  silence,  "I  put  it  there,  so's  'twould  be 
sure  an'  be  safe." 

"  I  thought  you  said  Black  John  stole  it,"  said 
Fred  dryly.  "  But  come  up  to  my  room,  and  you 
shall  go  with  me.  You've  fairly  earned  it  by  the 
whopping  lies  you've  told." 

Fred  sent  a  message  to  his  sister  and  cousin,  that 
circumstances  would  prevent  his  being  present  at 


LILY'S  PARTY.  39 

the  party  till  about  the  middle  of  the  evening,  and 
accordingly  the  girls  drove  to  Mrs.  Cushing's  alone. 
Little  did  they  dream  of  the  mortification  their  mis 
chievous  Fred  had  in  store  for  them. 

At  the  party  Alice  saw  many  of  her  future  school 
mates.  The  Newton  Seminary  was  deservedly 
popular.  The  scholars  were  at  home,  spending 
their  vacation ;  and  many  among  them  were  the 
friends  of  Lily.  The  large  rooms  were  brilliantly 
illuminated ;  festoons  of  flowers  hung  gracefully 
upon  the  walls,  and  from  the  ceiling  above;  and 
music  and  dancing  enlivened  the  festive  hours.  In 
the  midst  of  all  this  Ada  moved  like  one  in  her  ele 
ment.  Her  handsome  face  and  lively  conversation 
made  her  the  centre  of  a  group  of  eager  listeners. 
Her  foot  was  lightest  in  the  dance,  and  her  laugh 
the  merriest  o^  any.  Alice  was  more  quiet,  but 
modest  and  self-possessed.  They  wore  dresses  of 
dark  blue  silk.  Alice  wore  the  watch  her  uncle 
had  given  her.  Ada  wore  a  white  overdress 
trimmed  with  Valenciennes  lace. 

If  Ada  had  been  kind  and  thoughtful,  she  would 
have  left  her  gay  companions  sometimes  to  entertain 
her  less  brilliant  cousin,  or  to  introduce  her  to  her 
friends.  But  no  :  she  thought  of  nothing  but  her  own 
pleasure ;  and,  if  Alice  had  waited  for  Ada's  attentions, 
she  might  have  been  a  wallflower  the  whole  evening. 

"  Ada,"  said  Lily  Gushing,  "  why  don't  you  go 
and  speak  to  Alice  ?  She  looks  real  lonely." 


40  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  now  ! "  was  the  reply,  as  she  turned 
laughingly  to  her  companions  j  "  by-and-by,  perhaps, 
I  will." 

But  Lily  wanted  to  see  every  one  happy  around 
her,  and  she  did  not  selfishly  exclude  others  from 
her  enjoyments.  An  arm  stole  softly  around  Alice's 
waist,  and  a  sweet  voice  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  Are 
you  having  a  good  time  ?  Come  into  the  library, 
and  let  me  introduce  you  to  our  friends." 

Alice  bowed  her  thanks  ;  and,  finding  her  cousin 
did  not  intend  to  notice  her,  she  put  her  hand  in 
Lily's,  and  allowed  herself  to  be  conducted  into  the 
library. 

"  I  wonder  who  that  pale,  sad-looking  girl  is  that 
is  talking  to  Emma  Weston,"  said  Fanny  Green,  as 
they  left  the  group  who  were  clustered  about  Ada. 

"  Oh !  that  is  Alice  Morton ;  and  she  is  Ada 
Whiting's  cousin,"  said  her  companion ;  "  Lily  got 
acquainted  with  her  at  Ada's  house,  and  thinks  there 
never  was  one  like  her.  Let's  go  and  dance." 

"  No,"  said  Fanny,  "  I  think  I  will  get  acquainted 
with  this  Alice  Morton.  You  know  it  is  only  com 
mon  courtesy  to  entertain  strangers ;  and  then,  who 
knows !  perhaps  I  may  entertain  an  angel  una 
wares." 

"  "Well,  goodby !  "  replied  the  other ;  "  for  my  part, 
I  would  rather  dance  than  entertain  even  angels." 

"  Pardon  me  for  speaking  without  an  introduc 
tion  :  my  name  is  Fanny  Green." 


LILY'S  PARTY.  41 

Alice  started  at  the  strange  voice  ;  but  the  smiling 
face  and  bright  eyes  that  met  her  view  disarmed  all 
prejudice,  and  she  extended  her  hand  frankly,  and 
said,  "  And  mine  is  Alice  Morton,  —  shall  we  be 
friends  ? "  The  two  chatted  pleasantly  of  school 
affairs,  and  said  they  hoped  they  should  both  be  in 
the  same  class. 

"Ada,"  said  William  Cady,  "where's  Fred.  I 
haven't  seen  him  this  evening."  Before  Ada  could 
answer  the  question,  the  object  of  their  inquiry  ap 
peared  to  answer  for  himself.  He  had  put  his  joke 
into  execution.  Amid  a  wondering  silence,  he  con 
ducted  the  strange  visitor  into  the  room. 

With  a  low  bow  to  Lily,  he  said,  —  "  Permit  me 
to  introduce  my  friend,  Samuel  Lockling,  from  Con 
necticut." 

"  How  d'ye  do  ? "  said  Sam ;  "  hope  you're  well." 

Lily  was  much  embarrassed  ;  but  with  her  usual 
kindness  she  gave  a  hand  to  each,  and  said,  "  Any 
of  your  friends,  Fred,  are  welcome." 

You  have  heard  of  the  jackdaw  that  got  among 
peacocks?  Very  much  the  same  felt  our  hero. 
The  company  stood  for  a  few  moments  in  silence, 
gazing  upon  him  as  they  would  upon  some  strange 
animal  suddenly  dropped  down  among  them.  In 
fact.  Sam  looked  like  a  picture  from  the  Comic  Al 
manac.  The  necktie  was  drawn  out  into  a  bow  of 
mammoth  extension ;  the  jacket,  for  which  Sam  had 
paid  the  price  of  his  honor,  just  revealed  a  yellow 


THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

shirt-bosom,  fastened  with  very  gay  studs  ;  while  he 
carried  his  arms  akimbo  to  prevent  rumpling  his 
stiff  cuffs,  which  were  folded  over  his  sleeves. 

But,  for  all  his  homeliness  and  lack  of  polish,  he 
was  a  sharp-witted  boy;  and  he  began  to  suspect 
that  a  joke  had  been  played  at  his  expense.  It  cer 
tainly  did  not  look  like  the  apple-parings  he  had 
been  used  to.  The  rich  dresses  and  jewelled  hands 
of  the  young  ladies  little  resembled  the  calico  frocks 
and  buxom  looks  of  the  country  belles. 

"  I  say,  Fred ! "  said  he,  in  a  loud  whisper, 
"  where's  the  apples  ?  Let's  begin  to  pare  !  " 

"  I  should  say,  Mr.  Lockling,"  said  James  Pierce, 
with  forced  gravity,  "  that  you  were  laboring  under 
a  delusion." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  Sam. 

"  A  delusion,  my  friend,"  said  James,  proceeding  in 
his  grandiloquent  way,  "  is  an  erroneous  impression, 
which  prevents  the  full  play  of  the  reasoning  faculties, 
and  produces  an  abnormal  condition  of  the  mind." 

Sam  was  as  much  in  the  dark  as  ever.  "He 
means  to  say,"  said  Harry  West,  "  that  you've  been 
gulled,  —  cheated  :  this  isn't  an  apple-paring,  but  a 
social  party." 

"  Don't  believe  it !  "  said  Sam.  "  Nobody  never 
cheated  me  yet.  Anybody  that  takes  me  for  a  fool 
isn't  much  mistaken." 

"  That's  a  fact ! "  said  one ;  "  only  you've  got  the 
cart  before  the  horse." 


LILY'S  PAETY.  43 

"  How  could  you,  Fred  ?  "  said  "William  Cady,  in 
a  whisper.  "  You  have  carried  your  fun  too  far 
this  time.  Ada  feels  dreadfully ;  and  your  cousin, 
almost  a  stranger  here  :  how  could  yo-u  ?  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Fred ;  "  Sam  won't  hurt  any 
one.  He's  as  harmless  as  a  kitten.  You  may  go 
and  comfort  Miss  Ada,  if  you  want  to." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  this  awkward  scene  had 
robbed  Ada  of  her  self-complacency.  Her  color 
came  and  went  as  she  was  repeatedly  asked,  "  "Who 
is  he  ?  " 

"  I  declare,"  said  she,  (t  I  don't  know  any  thing 
about  it.  If  Fred  has  a  mind  to  introduce  his 
friends  here,  he  may  own  them ;  that's  all  I've  got 
to  say." 

But  Sam  did  not  need  attention ;  he  was  quite  the 
"lion"  of  the  evening.  Every  one  had  something 
to  say  to  him.  All  seemed  to  enjoy  the  strange 
guest ;  and  Sam,  flattered  by  their  attention,  was  as 
loquacious  as  could  be  desired.  The  company  were 
too  well  bred  to  be  rude  to  him ;  and  his  own 
mother-wit  prevented  his  committing  any  serious 
blunder. 

How  quickly  can  the  difference  be  seen  between 
the  true  and  the  false  lady !  While  Ada  stood  aloof, 
dreading  lest  Sam  should  recognize  her,  Alice,  with 
true  innate  delicacy,  strove  to  relieve  his  embarrass 
ment.  With  the  one  wealth,  position,  and  gentility 
could  alone  prevail ;  the  other  recognized  a  brother 


44  THE   SHEAVES   OF   LOVE. 

under  'any  exterior,  however  plain,  and  obeyed  the 
command,  "  Little  children,  love  one  another." 

As  it  grew  later,  the  guests  began  to  depart ;  and 
Alice  and  Ada  were  both  heartily  glad  when  their 
carriage  was  announced.  Acting  upon  Lizzie's  sug 
gestions,  when  Ada  took  leave  of  Lily  she  presented 
only  two  fingers,  and  bowed  slightly,  saying,  "  Good 
night,  Lily." 

Being  wholly  ignorant  of  drawing-room  etiquette, 
our  hero  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than  imi 
tate  her.  So,  awkwardly  holding  out  his  middle 
and  fore  finger  he  made  a  fac-simile  of  Ada's  bow, 
and  said,  "  Good-by,  Miss !  If  ever  you  come  up  to 
Connecticut,  jest  inquire  for  Hezekiah  Lockling's 
farm,  and  our  folks  '11  show  you  an  apple-paring 
worth  two  of  this.  There's  some  difference  betwixt 
hay  and  grass." 

An  audible  smile  ran  through  the  rooms.  Fred 
and  his  companions  beat  a  hasty  retreat  to  the 
dressing-room ;  and,  once  fairly  on  their  way  home, 
Ada  burst  into  a  fit  of  angry  weeping,  broken  only 
by  lamentations  and  bitter  words  of  reproach.  Fred 
whistled  "  Yankee  Doodle ; "  Sam  seemed  con 
cerned  as  to  how  he  was  coming  out  of  the  scrape ; 
while  Alice  maintained  a  thoughtful  silence. 

At  home  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whiting  were  waiting  the 
return  of  their  children,  as  this  was  the  last  evening 
they  would  all  spend  together. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Whiting,  when  Ada 


LILY'S  PARTY.  45 

had  finished  her  list  of  Fred's  enormities,  "  rny 
children  will  be  the  death  of  me !  Oh  my  poor 
nerves  !  And  then  just  to  think  of  the  mortification 
of  the  thing.  William,  that  boy  is  going  to  rack 
and  ruin  as  fast  as  he  can  go.  But  you  don't  see  it, 
—  none  but  a  mother  can  ;  and  my  health  so  feeble. 
But  keep  on,  ungrateful  boy !  you'll  kill  your 
mother,  by-and-by,  between  you  !  " 

"  Emily,"  said  her  husband,  "  be  calm.  This  is 
the  children's  last  night  at  home.  Let  it  be  a  happy 
one.  I  have  learned  that  a  little  sunshine  is  better 
than  many  frowns." 

Mrs.  Whiting  sobbed  convulsively,  with  her 
embroidered  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  Ada  cried 
from  sheer  vexation. 

"  After  so  much  thunder,  there  must  needs  be  a 
shower,"  said  Fred ;  and  the  embryo  Socrates  went 
to  his  chamber  to  relieve  Sam  not  only  of  his 
borrowed  clothing,  but  of  his  anxiety. 

Selfish,  vain,  indulgent  mother  !  The  soil  that  is 
neglected  produceth  no  fruit.  "  Do  men  gather 
grapes  of  thorns,  or  figs  of  thistles  ?  " 

"  Kiss  me,  mother,"  said  Lily  Gushing,  as  she 
was  retiring  that  night.  "  Only  think,  mother ! 
three  whole  months  that  I  shall  not  hear  your 
*  good-night,'  or  ^eel  your  kiss  upon  my  cheek ;  " 
and  a  few  tears  that  would  not  be  suppressed  stole 
down  her  face. 

The  soft  glimmer  of  that  night-lamp  shed  a  me- 


46  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

lancholy  light  over  the  chamber,  and  •  revealed  a 
touching  scene.  A  kneeling  mother  prayed  Hea 
ven's  blessing,  upon  her  child,  that  wherever  she 
might  go  she  might  never  stray  from  the  Saviour's 
fold. 

"  My  child,  in  a  corner  of  your  small  trunk  you 
will  find  a  Bible,  your  mother's  giil ;  read  it  daily, 
and  make  it  the  lamp  of  your  feet."  And  then,  lay 
ing  her  hand  among  the  sunny  curls,  she  said 
softly,  — 

"  May  the  Lord  love  you,  my  Lily ;  may  he  lift 
upon  you  the  light  of  his  countenance,  and  keep 
you  in  his  holy  keeping  now  and  for  ever  more  !  " 

Lily  cried  herself  to  sleep  that  night.  Ada's 
closely  packed  trunk  stood  in  her  room  that  night, 
but  if  you  had  searched  every  corner  you  would 
have  found  no  Bible.  There  were  ribbons  and  em 
broideries,  gloves  and  perfumes  ;  but  there  was  no 
room  for  the  Word  of  Life. 

But  from  that  unhappy  home  one  prayer  at  least 
ascended,  and  one  altar  smoked  with  the  incense  of 
gratitude.  To  Alice's  trusting  soul  the  good  Father 
sent  rest,  and  the  Spirit  of  Love  said  "  Peace." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DEPARTURE. SWEET   ELLEN   LEE. 

THE  shadows  deepened  and  deepened  over  the 
decks,  and  still  Mr.  "Whiting  and  Alice  sat  in  the 
twilight;  she  telling  him  of  her  love  and  grati 
tude,  and  he  speaking  words  of  counsel  for  the  fu 
ture.  It  was  the  New  York  boat  bound  out.  The 
farewells  had  all  been  spoken,  the  city  left  far  be 
hind  ;  but  Alice  sat  looking  tearfully  at  old  John's 
last  gift.  It  was  a  wooden  pear  tastefully  carved, 
containing  a  purple  satin  heart,  —  the  work  of  Con 
tent.  That  little  gift  told  more  of  true  sympathy 
and  love  than  the  costly  jewels  of  kings  ;  and  it 
was  more  precious,  —  to  one  heart,  at  least. 

Ada  was  in  earnest  conversation  with  a  new  ac 
quaintance.  Miss  Evelina  Cobb  was  a  stylish  young 
girl,  who  was  returning  to  the  Newton  Seminary. 
She  possessed  the  virtues  of  flattery  and  exaggera 
tion  in  an  eminent  degree.  Ada  listened  admiringly 
while  she  told  her  of  her  father's  immense  wealth, 
of  the  hundreds  of  balls  she  had  been  to,  the  beau 
tiful  dresses  she  wore.  She  had  attended  school  at 
the  seminary  for  some  time,  and  Ada  asked  her  how 
she  liked  it. 

"  Oh !  I  suppose  all  schools  are  alike,"  was  the 
reply  "  They  are  all  mean  prisons.  But,  I  tell 


48  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

you,  they  are  awful  strict  at  this  school.  And  Miss 
Newton  is  a  dried-up  old  maid ;  and  she  watches 
the  girls  as  a  cat  would  a  mouse.  I  made  a  horrid 
fuss  aj)out  going  back;  but  pa  said  I  was  wild 
enough,  and  needed  somebody  to  hold  a  pretty  tight 
rein." 

"  Uncle,"  said  Alice,  "  do  you  see  that  old  man 
coming  towards  us  ?  May  I  offer  him  my  chair  ?  " 
But,  before  Mr.  Whiting  could  answer,  Alice  sprang 
eagerly  forward.  The  old  man  had  stumbled,  and 
fallen  upon  the  deck. 

Evelina  broke  into  a  girlish  titter. 

"  Are  you  much  hurt,  sir  ?  "  and  Alice  .tenderly 
assisted  him  to  rise,  and  placed  his  staff  once  more 
in  his  hands. 

"  No,  little  one :  I  thank  you.  There  are  few 
that  would  have  done  what  you  did." 

"  What  a  fool  your  cousin  is  to  give  that  old  man 
her  chair ! "  said  Evelina.  "  First  come,  first  served, 
eay  I." 

Ada  did  not  like  the  heartless  manner  !>f  her 
friend ;  but  she  had  not  the  moral  courage  to  de 
nounce  it.  She  thought  her  a  stylish  girl,  and, 
strange  to  say,  felt  honored  by  her  notice. 

"Alice  is  a  strange  girl,"  she  said.  "I  confess 
that  I  should  not  have  done  it." 

Ada  spoke  truly.  She  would  not  even  have 
thought  of  it.  People  who  make  self  their  idol  are 
seldom  over-thoughtful  of  the  comfort  of  others. 


DEPARTURE. SWEET    ELLEN    LEE.  49 

"  May  I  know  my  young  friend's  name  ?  "  said 
the  old  gentleman. 

' '  It  is  Alice,  —  Alice  Morton,"  was  the  reply, 

"  Morton  ?  —  Morton  ?  "  —  he  repeated,  as  if  striv 
ing  to  brighten  up  some  old  memory.  "  Are  you 
any  relation  to  the  Mortons  of  Connecticut  ?  " 

"  My  father  once  lived  in  that  State.  His  name 
was  Edward  Morton." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  this  is  Edward's  child  ?  "  said 
the  old  man,  looking  earnestly  in  her  face.  "  Yes, 
yes.  I  see  the  same  dark  eyes  and  hair,  the  same 
noble  forehead." 

"  You  knew  my  father,  then  ?  "  said*  Alice,  in  sur 
prise." 

"  Bless  you,  child,  yes  !  He  was  my  scholar  for 
years.  And  a  promising  pupil  he  was.  Where  is 
he  now  ?  " 

Alice  lifted  her  hand  and  replied,  — "  Gone  to 
that  better  country.  I  am  a  poor  orphan,  sir  ;  but 
I  am  rich,  too,  for  I  have  a  father  and  mother  in 
heaven." 

"My -poor  child,"  said  her  companion  tenderly. 
"  Can  it  be  !  I  never  heard  of  Edward's  death." 

*'  It  is  now  eight  years  since  he  left  us,"  said 
Alice.  "  I  can  still  remember  how  the  tears  stood 
in  his  eyes  when  he  bade  us  farewell.  He  rests  in 
foreign  soil,  —  the  golden  sands  of  California." 

"  He  was  a  good  boy,"  said  the  old  man  thought 
fully,  "and  an  honest  man.  I  loved  Edward." 


50  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"  Then  I  shall  love  you,"  thought  Alice,  "  for  hl« 
sake." 

Alice  introduced  him  to  her  uncle,  and  told  him 
of  her  future  hopes.  She  was  surprised  to  find  that 
he  was  a  resident  of  the  same  village  where  their 
school  was  situated.  He  had  been  to  New  York  to 
obtain  a  permit  for  his  grandson  to  enter  the  art- 
school.  "I  have  a  pet  grand-daughter,  too,"  he 
said,  "  and  we  hope  to  be  able  to  send  her  to  Miss 
Newton's  school  next  term." 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  "  said  Alice. 

"  Ellen  Lee." 

"  It  is  a  pretty  name,"  thought  Alice.  "  I  feeJ 
as  if  I  should  like  her." 

They  chatted  on  until  Mr.  Whiting  deemed  it 
best  that  they  should  retire  to  their  staterooms.  The 
shadows  of  evening  deepened  over  the  boat;  and, 
while  it  hides  our  friends -from  our  sight,  let  us  pay 
a  hasty  visit  to  Elmwood  Village,  and  look  upon 
another  scene. 

Beyond  that  sudden  bend  in  the  old  road,  on  the 
other  side  of  those  great  maple  trees,  stands  the 
little  brown  cottage  of  the  Widow  Lee.  Did  you 
ever  see  a  really  old  house,  —  one  upon  whose  long 
gable  roof  the  green  moss  had  grown  year  after 
year?  Such  a  one  is  this.  The  friendly  grass 
grows  around  the  low  doorstep  in  summer  ;  and 
the  small  window-panes,  with  their  weather-beaten 
sashes,  make  it  seem  even  more  venerable. 


DEPARTURE. SWEET    ELLEN    LEE.  51 

The  old-fashioned  clock  ticks  in  a  corner  of  the 
large  kitchen.  It  has  swung  its  lazy  round  for  half 
a  century  in  that  self-same  place,  and  always  looked 
upon  a  happy  and  loving  family.  It  is  an  humble, 
yet  neat  apartment.  The  walls  and  floor  are  bare, 
save  a  few  sketches  on  the  walls,  and  a  strip  of  faded 
rag  carpet  before  the  stove.  An  elderly  lady  and 
.her '  daughter  sit  knitting  by  the  light  of  a  single 
candle ;  and  once  in  a  while  the  young  girl  will 
stop  to  pat  the  great  house-dog  curled  up  at  her 
feet,  -or  cast  an  affectionate  look  on  her  brother. 
Charles  Lee  and  his  sister  Ellen  are  the  widow's 
children,  and  her  only  treasures,  save  an  honest 
name  and  a  sure  faith  in  God. 

Charles  flung  from  him  the  book  he  was  reading, 
and,  looking  sadly  at  his  mother,  exclaimed,  "Oh, 
dear  !  it  is  so  hard  to  be  poor,  to  feel  this  terrible 
griping  poverty  in  the  way  of  every  aim  !  " 

"  So  I  have  thought  a  great  many  times,"  said 
Ellen ;  "  but  I  never  said  it  before.  It  don't  seem 
quite  right  to  complain." 

"  My  children,"  said  their  mother,  "  what  we  lack 
in  worldly  goods  is  usually  made  up  by  an  increase  of 
spiritual  riches.  The  great  world  beyond  is  full  of 
snares,  and  riches  are  a  pitfall  to  the  feet  of  him 
that  hath  them." 

"  But  there's  Evelina  Cobb  —  that  proud  girl 
that  ridiculed  me  so  last  summer — has  as  much 
money  as  she  can  spend.  Now,  why  is  she  per- 


5£  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

mitted  to  waste  it  when  Charles  and  I  need  it  so 
much?" 

"Do  you  mean  that  girl  that  laughed  at  your 
thick  shoes,  when  you  were  driving  old  Brindle 
home  last  summer,  and  called  you  a  ragged  cow-girl, 
because  you  had  a  hole  in  your  dress  ? "  said 
Charles. 

"  Yes :  do  you  remember  it  ?  " 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it.  I  don't  think  I  ever 
felt  so  wicked  in  all  my  life.  I  felt  as  if  I  should 
like  to  kill  her.  And  I  was  just  going  to  call  her  a 
hard  name,  when  something  whispered  in  my  ear, 
'  Charles  Lee !  stop  and  think ; '  and  then  I  re 
membered  the  morning's  lesson,  —  '  not  railing  for 
railing,  but  contrariwise,  blessing ; '  and  so  I  said 
nothing,  but  let  her  go  away.  I  tell  you,  Ellen,  if  I 
live  I  will  paint  that  picture  one  day." 

Charles  Lee  was  no  common  boy.  No  one  could 
look  upon  his  frank,  manly  countenance,  and  not  be 
struck  by  the  high  expression  it  wore.  His  mind 
was  naturally  brilliant ;  but  it  had  been  softened 
and  refined  by  home  influence.  He  was  spirited 
and  daring ;  but  a  mother's  prayers  and  counsels 
had  curbed  the  fiery  passions  and  enlarged  the  gene 
rous  nature  of  her  boy.  Miss  Newton,  the  teacher 
-  of  the  seminary,  was  much  interested  both  in  him 
and  his  sister.  In  Charles  she  saw  the  dawnings 
of  no  common  genius,  and  she  freely  taught  him  all 
she  knew  of  the  art  of  painting  ;  and  now  she  offered 


DEPARTURE. SWEET    ELLEN    LEE.  53 

Ellen  a  free  seat  in  tier  school,  and  promised  her 
she  would  do  all  she  could  to  fit  her  for  a  teacher. 

Tney  talked  long  of  their  future.  Charles  was 
desponding.  He  thought  of  his  poor  mother,  and 
that  she  would  be  left  alone  if  he  should  go  to  the 
art-school.  But  Ellen  was  hopeful  and  happy. 
Mrs.  tee  was  anxious  for  both  her  children,  but  most 
of  all  for  Ellen.  She  remembered  her  scanty  ward 
robe,  the  thick  shoes  which  Evelina  Cobb  haci  ridi 
culed  ;  and  she  answered  Ellen's  eager  questions,  — 

"  My  dear  child,  you  must  make  up  your  mind  to 
bear  some^  disappointments.  But  Miss  Newton  is 
your  fast  friend,  and  I  hope  my  Ellen  has  strength 
of  soul  enough  to  bear  any  thing  for  the  sake  of 
education." 

"  Indeed  I  have,  mother ;  and  then  I  don't  believe 
the  girls  will  laugh  at  me,  if  I  try  hard  to  please 
them." 

"  You'd  make  twice  as  pretty  a  picture  as  any  of 
them,"  said  Charles.  "  Sometime  I  shall  paint  you, 
and  then  it  will  be  as  an  angel,  with  a  white  robe,  and 
a  halo  round  the  head.  And  I  shall  love  to  paint 
the  Madonna,  with  her  sweet  face  ;  but  I  shall  not 
copy  Raphael  or  Kembrandt.  My  Madonna  will  be 
you,  mother,  with  your  brown  hair  and  blue  eyes ; 
and  I  know  those  who  look  at  it  will  think  it  is  the 
face  of  an  angel." 

Mrs.  Lee  wept.  She  was  proud  to  be  the  mother 
of  so  noble  a  son. 


54  THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

"  See,  brother !  you  have  made  mother  cry.  It  is 
because  we  are  poor,  and  you  cannot  go  to  the  art- 
school."  • 

"  If  I  live,  she  shall  not  have  to  weep  much 
longer,"  said  Charles. 


CHAPTER  Vfl. 

SCHOOL-LIFE. 

• 

THE  little  village  of  Elmwood  was  an  oasis  in 
our  great  desert  world.  There  was  no  factory  hum, 
as  there  is  in  most  of  our  New  England  villages  ; 
but,  instead  of  the  noise  of  spindles,  Nature  sang 
songs  of  joy  in  the  voice  of  the  brooks,  or  grand 
triumphal  hymns  in  the  dim  old  pines  which 
bordered  the  horizon  like  a  verdant  crown.  It  was 
a  quiet,  rural  place,  just  fitted  for  a  school,  where  no 
pleasures  save  Nature's  tempted  the  students  from 
their  books.  Miss  Newton,  the  principal,  was  a 
lady  of  worth  and  talent,  —  a  true  Christian  woman, 
and  one  of  those  rare  persons  who  seem  to  mould 
and  pattern  the  minds  of  the  young  after  their  own 
lofty  and  beautiful  ideal. 

Mr.  "Whiting  communicated  to  her  his  wishes  in 
regard  to  the  gif Is'  education.  "  I  have  brought 
them- here,"  he  said,  "because  your's  is  a  plain  New 
England  school.  I  have  sent  one  daughter  to  a 
French  boarding-school,  and  she  came  back  to  me 
with  all  the  healthful  springs  of  truth  and  duty 
choked  by  vanity  and  self-love.  I  ask  you  to  guard 
carefully  the  morals  of  these.  Teach  them  obe 
dience  and  generosity,  if  they  learn  less  of  Latin  and 
mathematics." 


56  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

Mr.  Whiting  spoke  earnestly,  as  one  would  who 
had  placed  a  priceless  jewel  in  the  keeper's  hands. 
Miss  Newton  was  much  affected.  "  I  will  do  what 
I  can,"  she  said ;  "  but  almost  all  depends  on  their 
early  training.  These  girls  have  formed  their  cha 
racters  in  a  great  degree." 

"Their  home-life  has  not  been  what  I  wish  it 
had,"  said  Mr.  Whiting.  "  I  am  a  man  of  the  world ; 
and  in  the  fashionable  circles  of  New  York  the  mind 
and  heart  are  secondary  things." 

It  was  a  large,  cheery  room  into  which  our  young 
friends  were  shown.  The  white  beds  nestled  cosily 
under  their  snowy  canopies ;  a  pretty,  though  com 
mon  carpet  covered  the  floor ;  and  pretty  chamber 
chairs,  bureaus,  and  sinks  completed  the  furniture. 

When  Alice  awoke  the  next  -morning,  the  gray 
light  was  streaming  in  through  the  blinds.  For  a 
few  moments  she  seemed  like  one  in  a  dream, — 
hardly  comprehending  how  she  came  in  that  strange 
room,  and  among  those  unfamiliar  objects.  Alice 
could  not  look  back  upon  her  foftner  life  with  so 
much  regret  as  did  Lily,  for  she  had  had  no  kind 
mother  to  cheer  and  aid  her  ;  and  the  aunt  who 
might  have  filled  that  mother's  place  had  never 
tried  to  win  her  love.  Alice's  first  emotions,  there 
fore,  were  those  of  joy,  that  her  ardent  wishes  were 
realized,  and  that  her  school-life  was  commenced. 
She  reviewed  all  her  past  life.  She  remembered  the 
little  brown  cottage  which  childhood's  sunny  memo- 


SCHOOL-LIFE.  57 

ries  still  gilded  with  a  Sacred  halo.  Her  feet  went 
over  the  same  green  paths.  And  she  remembered 
a  sadder  scene,  —  when  she  stood  in  a  hushed  room, 
and  wore  a  black  dress,  while  strange  hands  lifted 
her  up  to  look  for  the  last  time  on  the  pale  face,  ere 
the  "  dust  to  dust "  hid  it  for  ever  from  her  sight. 
And  then  came  a  new  life  in  the  great  city,  —  a 
beautiful  house,  splendid  furniture,  rich  dresses, 
and  gay  company ;  but  how  gladly  would  she  have 
exchanged  it  all  for  a  mother's  love  or  a  father's 
blessing !  Yet  there  are  bright  spots  in  every  expe 
rience  ;  and  Alice  felt  that  many  gleams  of  sunshine 
had  checkered  her  city  life.  She  thought  with 
pleasure  of  the  good  she  had  done  "Old  John," 
and  called  to  mind  her  Uncle  William's  kindness, 
and  Fred's  sympathy.  "  After  all,"  said  she  to  her 
self,  "if  it  had  not  been  for  Fred,  I  never  should 
have  come  to  school.  He  did  not  laugh  at  my  fool 
ish  plan,  but  helped  me  to  a  better.  Oh  !  I  do  love 
him  and  Uncle  "William  ;  and  I  hope  I  can  do  some 
thing  to  show  it  yet.  Of  course,"  she  mused,-  "  I 
would  not  like  that  he  should  ever -feel  the  need  of 
my  help ;  but,  if  he  ever  should,  I  should  be  so 
proud  and  happy  to  show  them  that  the  poor  orphan 
could  repay  their  kindness." 

School-life  had  opened  pleasantly  to  our  young 
friends.  They  learned  to  love  their  kind  teacher ; 
and  Alice  looked  upon  her  almost  as  a  mother. 
Only  one  thing  troubled  her,  and  this  was  Evelina 

3* 


58  .  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

Cobb's  unhappy  influence  over  Ada.  None  can  tell 
how  much  a  flattering,  silly  girl  may  mislead  one  of 
Ada's  unstable  temperament. 

One  day,  as  Alice  passed  a  group  of  girls  on  her 
way  to  the  dining-room,  she  heard  Jane  Swift  talk 
ing  in  a  very  mysterious  manner.  This  Jane  Swift 
was  a  gossiping  girl,  the  bosom  friend  of  Evelina. 
She  loved  dearly  to  retail  every  thing  she  heard ; 
and  a  piece  of  news  suited  her  better  than  a  Paris 
bonnet.  The  girls  called  her  the  "  Newton  news 
paper."  When  it  was  first  known  that  our  friends 
were  coming  to  the  school,  she  had  seized  upon  the 
report  with  her  usual  eagerness  ;  and  she  astonished 
her  schoolmates  by  telling  them  of  the  lovely 
orphan,  Alice  Morton,  whose  father  was  devoured 
by  lions  in  California,  and  whose  mother  died  of  a 
broken  heart.  But  we  have  forgotten  our  story. 
Alice  heard  her  talking  in  a  subdued  undertone,  — 

"  I  was  in  the  anteroom,  >  and  I  overheard  the 
whole  of  it.  You  know  Evelina  came  down  this 
morning  very  late ;  and  Miss  Newton  told  her  last 
term,  that,  jf  she  was  not  early  in  future,  she  would 
have  to  go  without  her  breakfast." 

"What  did  she  say  to  her?"  said  Ella  Eich- 
mond. 

"  Oh !  she  gave  her  a  regular  blessing.  And  she 
talked  to  her  about  her  dress.  But  that  isn't  the 
worst  of  it.  You  know  Evelina  always  had  the 
greatest  dislike  to  Ellen  Lee,  and  is  not  backward 


SCHOOL-LIFE.  59 

about  expressing  it.  It  seems  that  last  night  Ellen 
overheard  us  talking  about  her,  and  heard  Evelina 
call  her  a  *  charity  scholar.'" 

"  And  she  ran  right  off  and  told  Miss  Newton,  I 
suppose,"  said  Emily  Dean. 

"  No,  not  quite  that.  Miss  Newton  found  her 
crying  in  the  dressing-room,  and  made  her  tell  her 
what  was  the  matter.  I'm  afraid  she  will  call  me 
to  an  account.  Do  you  remember  any  thing  I  said, 
girls  ?  " 

"  No  !  Did  I  say  any  thing  ?  "  exclaimed  all  in  a 
breath. 

Anxiously  they  listened  while  Jane  proceeded  :  — 

"  Miss  Newton  was  dreadfully  displeased.  She 
told  Evelina  that  Ellen  Lee  was  now  a  member  of 
the  school,  and  she  should  allow  no  one  to  insult  or 
wound  her ;  and  she  threatened  her  with  dismissal 
in  case  the  offence  was  repeated." 

The  girls  talked  on ;  but  Alice  had  heard  enough. 
She  saw  the  evil  influence  which  Evelina  exerted  on 
those  around  her,  and  she  felt  sad  that  Ada  should 
be  attracted  by  her  empty  show  and  glitter.  And 
she  mentally  resolved  that  she  would  try  and  win 
her  back  to  the  society  of  true  friends. 

Ellen  stayed  at  noon,  and  took  dinner  with  the 
rest.  Her  face  was  pale  and  sad,  and  she  seemed 
nervous  when  spoken  to.  Shrinking  and  sensitive 
as  she  was,  the  rudeness  of  her  schoolmates  had 
wounded  her  to  the  quick.  Could  those  thoughtless 


60  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

girls  have  seen  her  the  night  Before,  when  she 
reached  her  home  and  gave  free  vent  to  her  grief,  they 
would  have  spared  that  young  heart  such  anguish. 
But. they  were  laughing  and  happy  ;  while  she,  the 
butt  of  their  ridicule,  knelt  in  the  little  kitchen,  and, 
burying  her  face  in  the  folds  of  her  mother's  dress, 
told,  with  tears  and  sobs,  the  story  of  her  school 
troubles.  They  did  not  see  the  tears  in  the  mother's 
eyes,  nor  witness  the  fiery  anger  of  Charles,  nor 
hear  the  trembling  voice  of  Grandfather  Lee,  as  he 
blessed  and  encouraged  her.  How  should  they  know 
or  care  ?  Were  not  they  rich,  and  she  poor  ? 


CHAPTER  VHL 

THE    YOUNG    COLLEGIAN. 

SPRING  had  come,  with  its  soft  breezes  and  flute- 
like  melodies  ;  and  with  ils  awaking  buds  came  also 
a  new  life  to  Frederick  Whiting.  He  had  passed 
his  last  term  at  school,  and  entered  college  with  the 
most  flattering  prospects.  He  was  young,  rich,  and 
handsome ;  added  to  this  were  his  polished  man 
ners,  and  strong,  healthy  mind..  No  wonder  that 
these  many  qualities  made  him  a  general  favorite, 
and  that  he  was  in  danger  of  being  spoiled  by 
flattery  and  admiration.  In  fact,  Fred  was  in  danger 
of  becoming  as  flippant  and  frivolous  as  the  butter 
flies  of  fashion  who  surrounded  him.  His  room 
was  the  resort  of  gay  young  men, — "  prime  fellows," 

—  whose  list  of  accomplishments  was  only  equalled 
by  that  of  their  demerits. 

But  I?r,ed  never  failed  in  a  recitation.  His  lessons 
were  always  ready ;  though  no  one  could  tell  how 
they  were  prepared.  Was  there  some  convivial 
meeting  .of  choice  friends  ?  —  there  was  Fred.  Was 
there  some  plan  on  foot  for  pleasure  or  amusement  ? 

—  there  was  Fred.     Open,  sunny -hearted,  and  gene 
rous  to  a  fault,  he  was  a  ringleader  in  every  boyish 
freak.     Only  one  influence  restrained  him,  and  that 
was  the  counsel  of  his  friend,  William  Cady.     And 


68  THE   SHEAVES    OF   LOVE. 

sometimes,  too,  when  on  the  eve  of  some  new  frolic, 
he  would  think  of  Alice,  and  laugh  to  think  how 
gravely  she  would  look  and  talk,  if  she  knew  of  his 
doings. 

"  I  tell  you,  boys,"  said  Frank  Parsons,  one  of  a 
group  of  intimates  who  gathered  in  Fred's  room  one 
night, — "  I  tell  you,  it  will  be  capital  sport.  We've 
got  it  all  arranged.  Next  Friday  night,  the  *  boss  ' 
and  his  satellites  are  going  to  a  levee,  so  it  will  be  a 
fine  chance  for  us  to  take  a  holiday.  We've  fixed  it 
so.  Henry  Mason  has  engaged  to  furnish  us  with 
horses  and  wagons  from  his  father's  stables ;  and  at 
nine  o'clock  we  will  start  for  Cherry  Farm,  where  a 
supper  will  be  in  waiting  for  us.  I  guess  we'll 
waste  the  midnight  oil  to  better  advantage  than  in 
digging  out  Latin." 

"  But  how-  shall  we  get  back  ?  "  said  another ; 
"  and  how  shall  we  excuse  our  absence  ?  " 

it  Oh  !  "  replied  the  first  speaker,  "we'll  manage 
that.  Wit  is  the  twin-brother  of  necessity.  We 
may  depend  on  you,  Whiting  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  reply ;  and  they  shook 
hands  over  their  bargain,  and  departed. 

Fred's  room  had  been  fitted  up  expressly  for  him. 
A  Brussels  carpet  covered  the  floor;  rich,  heavy 
curtains  shaded  the  windows ;  and  bookcases  and 
busts  gave  a  finishing  touch  to  the  beautiful  apart 
ment.  When  his  visitors  were  gone,  Fred  took 
down  his  books,  run  over  the  lessons,  and  then  sank 


THE- YOUNG    COLLEGIAN.  63 

into  a  fit  of  profound  musing.  He  was  in  trouble. 
The  projected  frolic,  to  which  he  had  pledged  him 
self,  would  be  a  dangerous  and  expensive  one.  But 
the  danger  did  not  trouble  him.  It  was  only  the 
latter  consideration.  His  extravagant  habits  had 
left  him  destitute  of  funds.  How  were  they  to  be 
raised  ?  Scarcely  a  month  had  passed  since  he  had 
received  a  liberal  allowance  from  his  father  ;  and  he 
knew  if  he  applied  again  it  would  cause  inquiries, 
and  perhaps  his  allowance  would  be  lessened  in  the 
future.  It  would  not  do  to  sell  any  article,  for  that 
would  be  sure  to  be  discovered.  But  he  could  not 
refuse  to  go,  his  word  once  given ;  nor  indeed  could 
he  forego  the  hope  of  so  much  pleasure.  In  this 
dilemma,  a  thought  suddenly  struck  him.  He  rose 
hastily,  went  to  his  writing-desk,  penned  a  letter, 
sealed  and  directed  it.  Let  us  look  at  the  super 
scription.  "  Miss  Alice  Morton."  Yes  :  he  had 
applied  to  his  cousin  for  money  to  help  him  out  df 
this  difficulty. 

How  eagerly  did  Fred  break  the  seal  of  Alice's 
answering  letter,  which  he  received  two  days  after 
wards  !  He  glanced  at  rather  than  read  the  follow 
ing  words :  — 

MY  DEAR  Cotrsix,  —  Your  affectionate  letter  gave  me  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure  ;  but  the  request  you  made  has  caused  me 
more  pain  than  I  ever  experienced  before.  -The  money  I  can 
let  you  have  without  difficulty,  as  Uncle  William's  liberality 
overleaps  my  most  extravagant  wishes.  Dear  cousin,  do  not 


64  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

tliink  me  presuming,  when  I  ask  you  to  think  seriously  before 
you  take  this  step.  What  were  one  little  night  of  pleasure  to 
the  disgrace,  it  may  be  of  expulsion,  or  the  pain  of  conscience  ? 
I  know  you  will  respond  when  I  appeal  to  your  sense  of  right. 
Think  of  the  hopes  that  hang  on  your  course  !  Think  of  your 
parents'  disappointment,  if,  instead  of  pointing  to  you  with  just 
pride,  they  were  obliged  to  view  their  only  son  in  silent  shame  ! 
O  my  dear  Cousin  !  think,  reflect :  the  first  wrong  step  of  a 
lifetime  has  often  been  a  lesser  one  than  this.  You  know  me 
too  well  to  think  I  would  object  to  a  harmless  frolic.  But  this 
is  not  so.  How  mean  to  creep  away  under  cover  of  darkness, 
and  in  the  absence  of  teachers !  O  Fred !  how  can  you,  so 
noble-hearted,  do  any  thing  you  would  be  ashamed  the  whole 
world  should  know  ?  You  love  me,  do  you  not  ?  At  least  I  have 
thought  so.  I  love  you ;  and  I  have  prayed  that  I  might  speak 
rightly  in  this  case.  I  have  sent  you-the  money ;  but  oh !  Fred, 
if  you  have  any  love  for  me,  let  me  beg  you  will  show  it  by 
resisting  this  temptation.  Will  you  not  do  this  much  to  please 
me  ?  I  shall  wait  eagerly  for  your  answer.  Meantime  my  con 
stant  prayers  follow  you.  Ada  sends  love,  and  joins  me  in  this 
supplication. 

Ever  your  loving  cousin.  ALICE. 

Fred  turned  the  ten  dollar  bill  over  and  over 
again.  The  eager  look  with  which  he  had  received 
it  had  vanished,  and  in  its  place  was  a  look  of  pen 
sive  thought.  Long  he  sat  and  mused.  In  his  first 
disappointment  at  his  cousin's  sober  letter,  he  had 
indulged  in  all  sorts  of  bitter  words,  —  called  his 
cousin  old-maidish  and  stingy ;  but  when  he  read 
her  earnest,  loving  letter  over  again,  he  was  ashamed. 
The  letter  and  money  dropped  from  his  nerveless 
grasp.  The  form  of  Alice  seemed  to  rise  up  before 


THE    YOUNG    COLLEGIAN.  .        65 

him:  he  could  fancy  her  sweet,  pleading  expression, 
and  almost  see  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  hear  her 
voice,  as  she  said,  "  Will  you  not  do  this  much  to 
please  me  ? "  He  thought  how  selfish  he  was  to  be 
willing  to  inflict  so  much  pain  on  others  for  an 
evening's  frolic." 

"  I  would  not  go,"  he  said  softly,  "  if  I  had  not 
given  my  word." 

"  But  a  bad  promise  is  better  broken  than  kept," 
said  Conscience. 

"  No,"  replied  the  tempter.  "  Your  honor  is  at 
stake.  You  have  the  money,  —  go." 

But  again  the  faithful  sentinel,  Conscience,  whis 
pered,  te  Be  above  it.  Show  you  honor  a  manly 
sentiment,  by  refusing  to  stain  it  by  deception." 

Hard  pressed,  the  tempter  urged  his  strongest 
point,  —  "  You  will  be  called  a  coward.  Your  com 
panions  will  ridicule  you." 

"  I  do  love  you,  Alice,"  said  Fred,  "  and  I  should 
like  to  please  you  ;  but  you  ask  too  much.  I  cannot 
break  my  word." 

"  You  have  done*right,"  said  the  tempter.  "  You 
have  done  wrong,"  said  Conscience.  "  Count  one 
step  backward." 

"  I  shall  not  go,"  said  William  Cady,  in  answer 
to  the  entreaties  of  his  schoolmates.  "  I  know  my 
.parents  would  object ;  and  my  own  heart  tells  me  it 
is  wrong." 

"  I  have  thought  of  withdrawing  too,"  said  Fred. 


66  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"  What,  you !  Why,  your  name  is  on  the  list. 
What  has  come  over  you  ?  "  said  one. 

"  Is  it  conscientious  scruples,  or  does  the  old  go 
vernor  object  ? "  said  another. 

"  Oh !  Whiting's  turning  Methodist,"  said  Frank 
Parsons.  lf  How  long  have  you  been  on  the  anxious 
seat,  Brother  Whiting  ?  " 

The  color  of  wounded  pride  rushed  to  Fred's  tem 
ples.  "  You  are  too  bad,  boys,"  said  he,  laughing. 
"  I  -did  not  say  I  should  withdraw,  but  that  I  had 
thought  of  it." 

Once  more  the  tempter  had  triumphed. 

Friday  evening  came.  Fred  had  stifled  down 
every  feeling  of  self-reproach ;  and,  if  thoughts  of 
Alice  and  her  letter  did  intrude,  he  had  put  them  out 
of  his  mind  as  soon  as  possible.  The  plan  of  the 
students  was  all  matured.  An  empty  house  had 
been  secured  at  Cherry  Farm,  a  place  about  five 
miles  from  the  city ;  an  expensive  supper  was  or 
dered  to  be  ready  when  they  arrived ;  and  they 
only  waited  for  darkness  to  cover  their  departure. 
There  was  -a  strong  feeling  of  disapproval  among  the 
older  students  ;  and  by  no  means  the  best  class  of 
them  were  engaged  in  the  enterprise.  The  rules 
of  the  institution  forbade  the  absence  of  pupils  at 
night,  unless  by  especial  permission. 

Fred  retired  to  his  room  to  prepare.  Strange  to 
say,  the  pleasure  which  he  anticipated  so  joyfully  a 
week  ago  now  had  no  charm  for  him.  He'  heartily 


THE    YOUNG    COLLEGIAN.  67 

wished  the  frolic  was  all  over ;  for  Conscience  had 
never  once  ceased  talking  to  him  of  right  and  duty. 
The  party  were  to  start  at  nine.  Eight  o'clock 
came,  —  half-past,  —  a  quarter  to  nine  ;  and  still 
Fred  sat  in  his  room  silent  and  unhappy.  Alice's 
letter  was  on  a  table  before  him.  Shall  I  tell  you 
what  was  in  his  mind  all  this  time  ? 

As  he  sat  there,  half  conscious,  half  dreaming,  he 
was  recalling  much  of  his  past  boyhood.  The  little 
college  room  faded  away  before  his  eyes;  and  in  its 
place  he  saw  a  beautiful  room,  with  rich  furniture 
and  costly  pictures.  A  merry,  laughing  boy,  and 
his  bright-eyed  sister,  played  draughts  in  a  corner ; 
and  an  invalid  lady  sat  in  the  sunlight,  which  poured 
its  afternoon  glory  into  the  apartment.  It  was  one 
of  the  pictures  of  his  memory.  But  the  foremost 
figure  was  a  child,  with  eyes  tearful  and  beseeching, 
and  a  face  wearing  all  the  expression  of  sorrowing 
love.  How  well  did  Fred  remember  that  scene ! 
It  was  when  Alice  first  came  to  live  at  her  uncle's. 
She  felt  lonely  and  desolate  in  the  great  room,  and 
would  often  sit  down  and  cry  for  hours  together. 
Fred  was  at  home  but  little,  but  he  always  liked  the 
sprightly  Ada  better  than  the  sober  Alice.  On  this 
afternoon  Alice  had  crept  to  the  back  of  his  chair  to 
watch  the  game.  She  had  been  weeping,  and  the 
tears  were  not  yet  dry  upon  her  cheeks.  "Go 
away,"  said  he  rudely  ;  "  I  hate  cry-babies."  All 
this  came  back  to  him  as  he  sat  there ;  and  he 


68"  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

could  see  her  reproachful  look  when  she  said,  "  O 
Cousin  Fred !  I  have  no  one  to  love  me  !  "  And  then 
he  remembered  how  with  eager  regret  he  had  kissed 
her,  and  said  he  was  sorry,  and  from*that  time  loved 
her  better  than  all  the  world.  "I  wonder,"  he 
thought,  "if  Alice  would  recognize  in  this  selfish 
being  the  same  frank  and  ardent  boy  of  long  ago." 

And  then  another  picture  rose  up  before  him. 
He  fancied  Alice  in  her  room  at  school.  He  could 
see  her  kneeling,  and  praying  that  he,  her  cousin, 
might  be  "  delivered  from  temptation."  And  then 
came  the  sweet  pleading  voice,  — "  Will  you  not 
do  this  much  to  please  me  ?  "  His  pride  and  self- 
love  appeared  to  him  in  all  their  hateful  deformity ; 
and  he  said,  "It  is  enough !  Alice,  your  letter  has 
saved  me." 

"  Come,  "Whiting !  what  are  you  dreaming  about  ? 
We've  been  waiting  this  ten  minutes  for  you !  "  ex 
claimed  Frank  Parsons,  as  he  slapped  our  hero 
familiarly  on  the  shoulder. 

"  I  am  not  going,"  said  Fred  firmly.  "  Not 
going! — not  going!"  was  echoed  from  all  sides. 
But,  in  spite  of  remonstrances  or  taunts,  he  held  his 
purpose.  The  rubicon  was  passed,  —  he  had  reached 
the  shores  of  peace  and  quietness  ;  and  his  com 
panions,  with  their  dangerous  project,  were  left  on 
the  other  side. 

Morning  brought  back  the  students,  merry  with 
wine.  Fred  looked  at  them,  and  rejoiced  that  he 


THE    YOUNG    COLL^JblAN.  69 

had  escaped  such  degradation.  The  freak  was  dis 
covered  ;  a  part  of  the  students  were  suspended,  and 
the  ringleaders  expelled.  Fred  felt  that  he  could 
afford  to  have  Frank  Parsons  call  him  a  coward. 

And  Alice !  was  not  she  doubly  happy  when  she 
read  the  affectionate  letter  her  cousin  sent  her  in  re 
turn  ?  The  influence  she  gained  over  him  at  this 
time  was  strengthened  by  future  correspondence. 
Alice's  conscientiousness  was  a  check  on  his  impul 
siveness.  Truly  "  there  is  that  maketh  himself 
poor,  yet  hath  great  riches."  Poor,  indeed,  was  she 
in  this  world's  goods  ;  but  rich  in  faith,  rich  in  love, 
rich  in  moral  influence  over  those  she  loved. 
Who  would  not  rather  prefer  to  be  a  blessing  to 
others,  —  a  monitor  of  good,  —  than  to  possess  the 
world  ? 

The  seed  sown  in  prayer  arid  in  tears  here  bore 
its  first  harvest.  It  was  the  first  sheaf  in  Alice's 
harvest  of  love. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   SABBATH   IN   ELJTWOOD. 

SPRING  budded,  bloomed,  and  faded ;  Summer 
grew  old  in  the  steps  of  her  elder  sister,  till, 
smothered  by  her  own  roses,  she  dropped  them, 
brown  and  sere,  into  the  lap  of  pensive  Autumn. 
And  yet  another  winter  and  spring  have  departed 
since  our  friends  entered  upon  the  pleasures  and 
trials  of  school-life..  Circumstances  had  rendered 
Alice  mature,  while  yet  a  child ;  but  now  the  disci 
pline  of  hard  study  had  deepened  the  thoughtful 
expression  upon  her  face,  and  made  her,  in  very 
truth,  a  woman.  Gentle,  loving  Lily  had  worked 
her  way  into  every  heart ;  for  her  soul  was  like  a 
wind-harp,  vibrating  to  every  passing  emotion, 
whether  of  sympathetic  smiles  or  tears.  Beautiful 
she  was  as  a  spirit,  and  as  pure ;  but  as  fragile  as  a 
flower.  Whenever  the  girls  had  an  angel  to  paint 
in  their  pictures  they  would  give  it  the  face  of  Lily  ; 
and  they  said  their  only  fear  was  that  she  would 
steal  its  wings  and  fly  away.  But,  for  all  this,  her 
goodness  was  of  the  negative  kind,  passive  and  yield 
ing.  With  Alice  it  was  an  active  Christian  princi 
ple  ;  antl  she  found  the  spur  of  duty  in  Christian 
love. 

Long  ago  Miss  Newton  had  separated  Ada  and 


A    SABBATH    IN    ELMWOOD.  71 

Evelina,  for  she  saw  the  evil  of  their  companionship. 
Ada  had  been  advanced  to  a  higher  class.  Between 
Alice  and  the  thoughtful  Ellen  Lee  a  tender  inti 
macy  had  sprung  up  ;  and  much  good  to  both  was 
the  result. 

It  was  a  sabbath  morning  in  August.  The  dew 
yet  lay  upon  the  grass,  and  the  sweet  perfume  of 
clover  blossoms  came  in  at  the  open  windows  like 
the  sensible  blessing  of  Mother  Nature.  A  sabbath 
in  the  country  !  —  how  blessed  is  it !  The  great  trees 
stretch  above  you  their  tall  arms  in  benediction ;  and 
the  ring  of  silver  bells  seems  to  speak  of  that 
heaven  where  all  is  one  eternal  harmony. 

It  was  a  pleasant  walk  to  the  church.  Alice 
found  her  little  class  assembled  in  the  chapel. 
Many  of  them  were  the  younger  scholars  of  the 
seminary,  and  were  tenderly  attached  to  their  Sun 
day  teacher. 

Evelina  sat  in  her  room.  Her  hair  was  yet  in 
papers,  and  her  morning  dress  unchanged.  On  her 
return  home  at  the  last  vacation,  she  had  supplied 
'herself  with  a  quantity  of  yellow-covered  novels  ; 
and  she  now  sat  crying  over  a  story  of  love  and 
broken  hearts.  Jane  Swift,  now  her  room-mate, 
was  standing  before  the  glass,  practising  airs  and 
graces.  Evelina  stopped  reading  to  look  at  her,  as, 
perfectly  unconscious,  she  went  through  her  per 
formances.  It  was  ludicrous  enough.  First  she 
would  smile  in  the  most  killing  way,  just  enough  to 


72  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

show,  the  tips  of  her  teeth ;  then  she  would  draw 
down  the  corners  of  her  mouth  with  becoming 
gravity;  then,  opening  her  fan,  she  waved  it 
languidly  to  and  fro,  only  stopping  rfow  and  then 
for  another  of  those  melting  smiles. 

"  What  are  you  doing*  Jane  ?  "  exclaimed  Evelina. 

"  Nothing,  "  said  Jane,  blushing,  —  "  only  amus 
ing  myself.  What  are  you  doing  ? " 

"  Oh !  I'm  reading  the  *  Robbers'  Cave,  or  the 
Knight's  Revenge  ; '  and  I've  just  come  to  a  splendid 
passage  where  the  lady  is  killed  by  the  robbers,  and 
the  knight  swears  vengeance.  Don't  you  think,  Jane, 
that  TOP  live  in  a  dreadful  hum-drum  age  of  the  world  ? 
No  one  ever  gets  carried  away  by  robbers  now-a-days ; 
and  there  are  no  knights  to  rescue  fair  ladies." 

"  And  no  one  to  play  the  guitar  under  the  green 
wood  tree,"  added  Jane.  "  But  come,  Evelina  ;  get 
up,  or  you  will  be  late  to  meeting." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  believe  I  shall  go,"  said  Evelina, 
yawning.  "  Miss  Newton  won't  notice  that  I'm  not 
there  among  all  the  rest."  • 

"  But  you  know,"  said  Jane,  "  that  Judge  Hall's 
son  came  home  from  Germany  this  week.  So  I  sup 
pose  he  will  be  at  church  this  morning." 

"  Sure  enough !  "  said  Evelina.     "  I  guess  I  will 

go." 

"  Miss  Alice,"  said  little  Lizzie  Grant,  when  the 
lesson  was  all  repeated,  "  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
tell  me  wl^at  a  *  catch  '  is  ?  " 


A    SABBATH    IN    ELMWOOD.  73 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  my  dear.     Tell  me  in  • 
what  connection  you  heard  it,  and  then,  perhaps,  I 
can  explain  it." 

"  Why,  the  other  day  Nelly  heard  Evelina  talk 
ing  about  a  Mr.  Hall  that  had  just  come  home  from 
Europe,  and  she  said  he  was  a  *  great  catch.'  Now 
I  always  thought  a  catch  meant  some  kind  of  a  trap, 
and  we  didn't  see  how  a  man  could  be  a  trap." 

Alice  blushed  at  the  childish  version  of  her 
schoolmate's  remark,  and  briefly  told  them  that  it 
was  a  foolish  saying. 

"  But  the  Bible  says,  Miss  Alice,"  broke  in  the 
child,  whose  thoughtful  blue  eyes  were  fixed  won- 
deringly  upon  her,  "  that  it  is  the  lips  of  fools  that 
poureth  out  foolishness." 

Alice  could  not  say  a  word.  What  defence  could 
she  give  Evelina?  Even  the  pure  lips  of  a  little 
child  had  condemned  her. 

Down  the  aisle  walked  Alice  to  her  accustomed 
seat.  The  village  church  was  no  costly  structure ; 
but  a  simple  temple,  cheerful  and  sunshiny,  like  the 
religion  that  was  preached  there  Sunday  after  Sun 
day.  The  warm  wind  stole  in  through  the  open 
windows,  eloquent  with  the  smell  of  new-mown  hay 
and  golden  fruits ;  the  sunshine  fell  in  broad  bands 
across  the  nave ;  and  the  sound  of  brooks  and  whis 
pering  leaves  thrilled  the  air  like  rippling  music. 

Alice's  mind  was  filled  with  devout  thoughts. 
As  the  organ  pealed  out  its  solemn  tones,  she 


74 


THE   SHEAVES    OF   LOVE. 


thought  that  the  little  church,  with  its  nave  rtsting 
in  sunshine  and  shadow,  and  its  organ  harmony  in 
the  choir,  was  a  symbol  of  what  our  life  should  be. 
On  the  level  of  every-day  life,  duty  and  pleasure, 
sorrow  and  joy,  blend  like  the  shadow  and  sunshine  • 


A    SABBATH    IN    ELMWOOD.  75 

but,  like  the  organ  above,  the  soul's  voices  should 
be  ever  singing,  to  hallow  the  daily  life  alike  of  joy 
or  sorrow. 

The  minister  preached  upon  "Vanity;"  but  Eve 
lina  did  not  hear  a  word. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CHARLES'S     PICTURE, 

"I  wonder  what  it  can  be ! "  said  Lucy  Howard, 
as  the  old  stage  stopped  at  the  door,  and  a  large 
square  package  was  handed  out. 

"  I'll  bet  a  copper  I  can  tell ! "  said  the  ever- 
ready  Jane  Swift.  '  "  It's  those  Intellectual  Philoso 
phies  that  Miss  Newton  has  ordered  to  bother  our 
brains  with." 

*  "  No,"  said  Mary  Knowles,  "  the  package  is  too 
large  for  that." 

Miss  Newton  ordered  the  mysterious  article  to  be 
brought  in  and  placed  upon  the  table.  "  What  is 
it  ?  "  exclaimed  many  voices. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "  We  will  open  it 
and  see." 

The  girls  stood  in  anxious  expectation  while  the 
wrappers  were  removed. 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  picture  ! "  said  Lily  Gushing ;  "  I 
can  see  the  corner  of  the  frame." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ada,  "  I  can  see  it ;  it  is  an  oil  paint- 
ing." 

"How  beautiful!"  exclaimed . all,  as  the  last 
wrapper  was  removed.  "  Why,  it  is  the  old  road. 
There  are  the  old  maples,  and  there  is  the  bend, 


CHARLES'S   PICTURE.  77 

with  the  Widow  Lee's  cottage  beyond  ;  and  even 
old  Brindle,"  said  one.     "  How  perfect  I  " 

'A  note  had  dropped  from  the  picture.  It  was 
dated  at  New  York,  and  signed  "  Charles  Lee."  It 
begged  Miss  Newton's  acceptance  of  the  work,  as  a 
token  of  gratitude,  and  a  sample  of  his  improve 
ment  during  the  year  and  a  half  he  had  attended  the 
art  school. 

Ellen  gazed  with  admiration,  not  unmingled  with 
pride,  on  her  brother's  beautiful  work.  He  had  writ 
ten  her  that  he  intended  sending  Miss  Newton  a 
picture ;  but  she  knew  not  of  the  deep  meaning  he 
had  hidden  in  it,  —  of  the  wounded  pride  which 
found  expression  in  its  lights  and  shadows,  and  of 
the  spirit  of  revenge  which  had  nerved  the  arm  and 
guided  the  brush  of  the  young  painter. 

"  I  do  believe,  Ellen,"  said  Lily,  "  that  he  meant 
the  milkmaid  should  represent  you.  And  that  boy 
coming  over  the  field  with  the  hoe  over  his  shoul 
der  looks  just  as  Charles  used  to !  Isn't  it  beautiful, 
Miss  Newton  ? " 

"  It  is  indeed,"  replied  their  teacher.  "  I  see  no 
reason  why  -Charles  should  not  become  a  great 
painter." 

As  these  things  were  pointed  out  to  Ellen,  a  new 
light  was  cast  upon  the  picture.  She  saw  through 
the  whole  now.  Charles  had  painted  the  scene  be 
neath  the  old  maples  to  revenge  himself  upon  Eve 
lina  for  the  insult  she  had  offered  his  sister,  when 


78  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

she  taunted  her  with  her  mean  attire  and  her  po 
verty.  She  dreaded  to  have  the  girls  discover  the 
truth,  and  yet  she  wondered  that  they  could  be  so 
blind. 

"  Why,  girls !  "  exclaimed  Lucy  Howard,  "  those 
faces  are  all  portraits.  Look  at  that  figure  —  point 
ing  towards  it  —  it  is  the  very  image  of  Evelina 
Cobb." 

"  Hush !  there  she  is  now,"  said  Lucy,  as  Eve 
lina  'entered  the  room  and  advanced  towards  the 
group.  "Don't  say  any  thing.  See  if  she  will 
notice  the  resemblance  !  " 

"  Look,  Evelina !  see  what  a  beautiful  picture 
Charles  Lee  has  sent  us." 

Evelina  advanced  towards  the  speakers.  "  I  think 
it  is  done  very  well,"  said  she.  But,  as  she  took  a 
nearer  and  closer  view,  she  saw  something  in  it  be 
sides  an  old  road  with  maples.  Every  line  was  alive 
with  meaning.  It  was  no  fancy  sketch.  That  sum 
mer  scene  came  back  to  her :  the  picture  represented 
her  as  she  stood  there,  with  her  countenance  scorn 
ful,  her  hand  extended,  and  her  lips  just  parted  to 
speak  those  cruel  words,  "  You  are  a  ragged  cow 
girl."  Covered  with  mortification  and  anger,  she 
looked  round  upon  the  group  to  see  if  they  remem 
bered  the  scene.  She  met  the  inquiring  looks  of 
Miss  Newtpn,  and  the  conscious  faces  of  her  school 
mates.  The  "color  rushed  to  her  cheeks,  and  then 
retreated,  leaving  her  very  pale.  Miss  Newton, 


CHARLES'S  PICTURE.  79 

surprised  and  alarmed,  said,  "  You  seem  faint ;  "  and 
made  a  motion  to  help  her. 

"  No  !  "  said  Evelina,  endeavoring  to  recover  her 
self:  "  it  is  nothing."  Her  pride  came  to  her  aid. 

"  I  don't  care, —  I  am  not  ashamed,"  she  said  over 
to  herself,  as  if  answering  the  rebukes  of  conscience. 
"  I  always  did  hate  Charles  Lee.  I  hate  him  now. 
I  hate  his  sister.  Why  should  I  fear  to  look  at  that 
picture  ?  I  will  look  at  it !  "  and  she  fixed  her  eyes 
firmly  upon  the  painting. 

But  the  beseeching  expression  which  Charles  had 
thrown  into  those  eyes,  —  the  pleading  humility,  — 
were  too  much  for  her.  She  looked  up,  but  only  to 
meet  those  of  the  original  fixed  mournfully  upon 
her  face.  It  wafc  a  look  of  pain,  as  if  she  asked  par 
don  for  her  brother's  revengeful  act.  Pleading  ill 
ness,  Evelina  escaped  from'  the  room. 

"  What  is  it  ?  —  what  was  the  matter  with  Eve 
lina  ? "  asked  a  dozen  voices  in  a  breath.  And 
twenty  voices  essayed  to  answer  the  question.  Miss 
Newton  was  wholly  ignorant  of  the  case ;  and  our 
friends  looked  on  with  eager  curiosity.  Ellen  felt 
that  she  alone  could  put  the  act  in  its  proper  light ; 
and  she  was  anxious  to  tell  the  story  herself.  So, 
leaving  the  girls,  she  requested  a  private  interview 
with  Miss  Newton. 

"  Isn't  it  romantic  ?  "  said  the  girls.  "  Who  would 
have  thought  it  ?  It's  as  strange  as  any  thing  we 
read  in  books  !  " 


80  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"  Oh  !  but,"  said  Jane  Swift,  "  I  think  it  was  cruel 
in  him  to  paint  our  portraits  there !  Only  think 
of  it !  there  they  will  remain  for  years." 

"  But  only  think,"  said  Jerry  Williams,  "  how 
much  worse  it  is  to  wound  two  such  sensitive  hearts 
as  theirs  !  This  picture  is  engraved  on  their  souls, 
and  the  memory  of  that  cruel  taunt  will  remain  there 
for  ever ! " 

"  It  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad,"  said  Lucy  How 
ard,  "  if  one  of  you  had  been  handsome.  Then 
some  one  might  have  seen  the  picture  and  fallen  in 
love  with  you ;  and  that  would  have  finished  it  up 
beautifully." 

"You  ought  to  have  been  there,  Lucy,"  said 
Emily  Dean. 

The  study  bell  rifng,  and  the  girls  left  the  draw 
ing-room.  Two  seats  were  vacant,  Evelina's  and 
Ellen's.  A  hush  seemed  to  have  settled  upon  the 
school,  and  the  girls  were  dreamy  and  absent-minded. 

Jane  Swift  managed,  privately,  to  tell  Ada  that 
she  was  glad  of  it,  and  hoped  it  would  cure  Eve 
lina's  pride. 

Alas  !  what  pride  so  great  as  that  which  shuts  its 
eyes  to  its  own  faults  ? 

Between  tears  and  sobs,  Ellen  finished  her  story. 
"My  dear  Miss  Newton,  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
sorry  I  am  for  this  occurrence !  It  does  not  seem 
possible  that  my  dear,  good,  generous  brother  would 
stoop  to  revenge  an  injury.  But  oh,  madam !  his 


CHARLES'S  PICTURE.  81 

provocation  was  great.  He  is  high-spirited,  and 
loves  his  unworthy  sister  as  well  as  when  we  knelt 
together  at  our  mother's  knee.  Let  me  pray  that 
you  will  not  let  this  rob  him  of  your  respect;  for,  oh ! 
indeed  he  is  good  and  worthy." 

"My  dear  girl," — and  Miss  Newton  laid  her 
hand  soothingly  on  Ellen's  heated  brow,  —  "I  am 
sorry  and  grieved,  but  not  so  much  for  Charles's  act 
as  for  the  heartless  unkindness  of  the  girls  under 
my  care.  Do  not  distress  yourself.  Charles  does 
not  suffer  in  my  regard;  and  I  the  more  admire 
your  sisterly  love.  But,  when  I  think  that  these 
girls  whom  I  have  led  and  counselled,  whose  hearts 
I  have  tried  to  fill  with  the  harmony  of  love,  have 
gone  astray  into  folly  and  selfishness,  my  spirit  is 
troubled.  I  fear  I  never  shall  —  never  —  be  able 
to  win  them,  to  the  Good  and  True." 

"  Oh,  indeed ! "  exclaimed  Ellen,  forgetting  her 
reserve,  —  forgetting  every  thing  in  her  eager  love, 
—  "I  think  you  will ;  I  am  sure  you  can.  Evelina 
is  giddy  and  vain,  but  I  cannot  think  her  heartless. 
Alice  Morton  says  she  has  a  soul  somewhere,  only  it 
cannot  breathe  in  the  air  of  fashion  and  empty  plea 
sure.  Dear  Alice  !  she  is  so  good  herself.  She  looks 
sad  when  Evelina  talks  to  Ada,  and  flatters  her." 

"  Alice  Morton  and  Evelina  Cobb  are  two  oppo- 
sites,"  said  Miss  Newton. 

"  But  I  think,"  said  Ellen,  suddenly  recollect 
ing  herself,  "  that  she  will  grow  better  by-and-by. 

4*  0 


£         •  THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE.. 

After  all,"  she  said,  with  touching  sadness,  "  why 
should  I  expect  to  be  loved  ?  I  am  poor  and  "plain- 
looking,  and  reserved  :  no  doubt  Evelina  thought  I 
was  proud." 

"  Ellen,"  said  Miss  Newton,  "  you  know  I  never 
flatter  my  pupils  ;  but  I  see  you  have  been  making 
yourself  unhappy.  Perhaps  you  need  encourage 
ment  ;  so  I  will  tell  you  something  that  I  hope  will 
convince  you  that  the  world  respects  merit  and 
virtue  as  well  as  wealth  and  beauty." 

Ellen  looked  gratefully  upon  her  teacher,  as  she 
listened. 

"  You  know,  my  dear  child,  your  great  object  has 
been  to  fit  yourself  for  a  teacher.  One-half  of  your 
school  course  is  finished,  and  I  have  interested  my 
self  to  ascertain  if  any  school  was  in  want  of  a 
teacher.  I  was  not  very  successful  here ;  but  per 
haps  you  remember  a  tall,  dark-looking  gentleman, 
who  visited  the  seminary  last  week.  He  is  the 
Principal  of  the  Graham  Institute,  and  he  casually 
remarked  that  one  of  his  female  assistants  would  be 
married  as  soon  as  her  engagement  with  the  school 
expired.  I  showed  him  your  written  examinations, 
and  was  happy  to  give  him  a  testimonial  of  your 
good  character.  He  seemed  perfectly  satisfied,  and 
said  he  had  no  doubt  you  could  Jaave  the  situation  if 
you  wished.  So  I  engaged  it  for  you,  providing 
you  consented.  Come,  Ellen,  what  do  you  think  of 
it?" 


CHARLES  S    PICTURE. 

She  lifted  her  eyes,  full  of  happiness  and  grati 
tude,  and,  springing  from  her  chair,  grasped  Miss 
Newton's  hand  in  silence. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  all  this  ?  "  she  said 
at  last. 

"All  that  you  could  do,"  was  the  reply.  u  You 
have  been  faithful  and  obedient,  and  I  am  pleased 
with  you.  There,"  she  said,  as  Ellen  gave  vent 
to  her  gratitude  and  joy,  "  you  may  go  to  the  school 
room  now ;  I  wish  to  see  Evelina." 

"  One  word  more,  if  you  please,  Miss  Newton, — 
you  are  not  displeased  with  Charles  ?  " 

"No,  Ellen.  It  is  true,  I  cannot  approve  the 
course  he  has  taken ;  but  I  regard  it  as  the  expres 
sion  of  a  high-spirited  sensibility,  which,  if  rightly 
curbed,  would  be  a  virtue." 

"  I  fear,  even  now,  you  do  not  regard  him  as  you 
did  before,"  said  the  loving  sister.  "  I  don't  think 
he  ever  would  have  painted  that  picture  if  Evelina 
had  not  ridiculed  me  the  first  day  of  the  term.  You 
should  have  seen  him  that  night.  His  eyes  flashed, 
his  hands  were  clenched,  and  he  paced  ths  floor  like 
a  caged  lion.  I  was  frightened  out  of  my  grief  by 
his  anger ;  and  it  required  all  grandfather's  persua 
sions  to  keep  him  from  coming  to  see  you  directly." 

Miss  Newton  saw  that  Ellen  was  distressing  her 
self  with  these  unpleasant  memories ;  and  with  a  smile 
of  authority  she  pointed  towards  the  school-room, 
while  she  herself  sought  Evelina  in  her  chamber. 


84  THE   SHEAVES    OF   LOVE. 

y  \ 

The  door  was  unlocked;  and,  receiving  no  an 
swer  to  repeated  knocks,  she  entered.  At  first  she 
saw  no  one  in  the  disorderly  room ;  hut  presently 
there  was  a  movement  at  one  of  the  bay  windows, 
and  a  curtain  was  pulled  slyly  aside.  Evelina  rose 
when  she  saw  who  it  was,  and  placed  a  chair.  Her 
eyes  were  red  and  swollen  with  weeping.  Miss 
Newton  augured  well  from  this,  and  hoped  that 
she  had  been  led  to  see  her  selfish  pride,  and  repent 
of  it.  But  when  she  began  to  question  her,  and 
received  for  her  kind  words  only  now  and  then 
a  sulky  monosyllable,  she  knew  that  she  mourned 
only  for  mortification  and  loss  of  popularity.  Long 
the  patient  teacher  sat,  and  spoke  words  of  love  and 
counsel.  She  told  Evelina  that  she  should  hang  the 
painting  in  the  study-room,  —  not  to  cause  her  use 
less  pain,  but  because  she  hoped  the  sight  of  it 
would  be  a  constant  lesson,  and  exert  a  salutary 
influence.  Evelina  received  this  information  with 
the  same  stolid  indifference.  Miss  Newton  went 
away,  hoping  she  had  sown  some  seed  on  good 
ground.  Alas  !  it  was  not  good,  but  stony. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  session  be 
fore  the  principal  teacher  once  more  took  her  place 
at  the  desk.  Her  face  was  grave,  but  a  half  smile 
of  loving- kindness  always  played  with  the  firm  lines 
around  her  mouth. 

The  picture  was  hung  upon  the  wall.  No  stran 
ger  could  have  seen  aught  in  it,  save  a  work  of 


CHARLES  3   PICTURE. 


85 


great  merit  and  beauty;  but  to  them  it  spoke  vo 
lumes  of  human  love  and  passion.  Miss  Newton 
did  not  let  this  opportunity  pass  without  reminding 
the  girls,  in  her  own  quiet  way,  of  their  duties  to 
each  other,  and  the  necessity  of  that  charity  "  which 
suffereth  long  and  is  kind." 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  TKUE  POET. 

As  the  last  book  disappeared  in  Alice's  desk  at 
the  close  of  the  session,  her  seat-mate,  Ellen,  bent 
towards  her,  and  asked  her  if  she  would  not  like  to 
walk  home  with  her.  It  was  a  warm  day  in  the 
later  summer,  and  Alice  readily  consented,  and  said 
she  should  ]be  only  too  happy  to  go.  "  Let's  go 
'  cross-lots,' "  said  Ellen ;  "  for  I  want  to  talk  to 
you,  and  I  don't  want  to  meet  any  one." 

They  walked  on  some  distance  in  silence.  Ellen 
seemed  troubled,  and  Alice  waited  for  her  to  begin 
the  conversation.  By  going  across  the  meadows 
they  avoided  the  dusty  road.  The  field-grass  rose 
up  to  kiss  their  feet ;  the  great  trees  threw  their 
cooling  shadows  across  the  path ;  and  the  low,  plain 
tive  tinkling  of  the  cow-bell  sounded  in  the  dis 
tance.  Beyond  the  valley  the  church  reared  its 
white  front ;  and  its  vane  caught  the  slant  sunbeams 
like  a  halo  of  glory.  Alice  was  a  child  of  nature : 
every  bird  and  flower  and  sun-ray  seemed  to  her 
so  many  links  of  that  great  chain  which  is  ever 
drawing  us  nearer  to  heaven  and  God.  "  O  God ! 
I  thank  thee  for  this  beautiful  life !  "  was  the  silent  • 
thanksgiving  of  her  heart. , 


THE   TRUE   POET.  87 

A  low  sob  fell  upon  her  ear ;  and,  looking  up,  she 
saw  that  Ellen  was  weeping. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  think  I  am  gloomy,  Alice,"  said 
she  ;  "  but  I  have  been  sad  all  day.  I  wish  I  could 
be  cheerful  and  happy  as  you  are." 

i(  That  is  because  you  looked  on  the  ground,  and 
I  looked  up  at  the  beautiful  sunshine  and  the  blue 
sky." 

"  That  will  do  for  those  who  are  rich  and  happy," 
said  Ellen.  "  Suppose  you  were  poor,  Alice,  and 
all  your  hopeful  future  hedged  about  with  difficul 
ties?" 

"  But  I  have  been  poor,"  said  Alice.  "  My 
mother  was  a  widow,  much  poorer  than  yours,  and 
I  am  only  a  poor  orphan  now,  and  mean  to  earn  my 
own  bread  sometime.  But  what  difficulties  have 
you  ?  Has  any  thing  happened  ?  " 

"  No  :  only  I  feel  just  so.  And  I  don't  see  any 
hope  of  my  ever  being  anybody.  I  suppose  I  am 
ungrateful;  for  Miss  Newton  told  me  only  to-day 
that  she  had  engaged  a  school  for  me,  when  I  have 
finished  my  studies." 

"  Why,  Ellen  Lee  !  How  can  you  be  sad  over 
that  news  !  If  it  was  me,  I  should  be  happy  for  a 
week." 

"  And  so  was  I  when  I  first  heard  it ;  but  I'm 
afraid  it  won't  do  me  much  good !  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  I  had  to  leave  school,  Alice.  Mother's 
health  is  so  feeble,  that  it  really  makes  my  heart 


88  THE    SHEAVED    OF    LOVE. 

ache  to  leave  her  in  the  morning.  Much  as  Fwant 
to  teach,  I  believe  I  shall  give  it  up ;  for  1  can't 
see  her  kill  herself." 

"  But  can't  something  be  done  ?"  said  Alice. 
"It  is  a  pity  to  give  it  up,  with  the  battle  half 
fought." 

"  No,"  said  Ellen  despondingly  ;  "  there's  no 
help  for  it." 

"  And  then  again,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  don't  know 
as  I  should  be  contented  to  teach,  if  I  could  as  well 
as  not.  The  fact  is,  I  don't  think  I  am  fitted  for  it ; 
there  is  too  much  cold  practicability  about  it.  I 
like  the  ideal,  the  sunny,  the  imaginative.  In  truth, 
Alice,  I  believe  my  true  path  lies  in  the  walks  of 
literature.  If  I  could  be  a  writer,  I  should  be 
satisfied." 

"  But  it  plainly  would  not  be  your  duty,"  said 
Alice. 

"  Why  not,  pray  ?  " 

"  Because,  do  you  not  see  that  your  mother  looks 
forward  to  you  to  aid  her,  and  labors  to  place  you 
where  you  can  gain  a  livelihood  ?  If  you  were 
rich,  it  would  be  well  enough ;  but  as  it  is,  without 
money,  without  literary  friends,  it  would  be  a  long 
time  before  you  could  support  yourself  with  your 
pen." 

"I  know  it,"  replied  Ellen;  "and  that's  just- 
what  I'm  finding  fault  about.  Because  I  am  poor, 
I  must  deny  myself,  when  I  would  work ;  but  the 


THE   TRUE    POET.  89 

rich  can  revel  in  idleness.  Where  is  the  justice 
of  this  ? " 

"  Our  lives  are  in  the  hands  of  our  Maker,"  said 
Alice.  "  Perhaps  he  sees  you  need  the  discipline 
of  trial.  "Walk  in  the  path  of  duty,  and  wait 
patiently." 

tc  And  is  it  my  duty  ?  Is  it  my  duty  to  crush 
all  these  glowing  aspirations,  to  give  up  the  true 
beauty,  the  breathing  joy  of  poetry,  for  a  cold 
reality  ?  Must  I  live  all  my  life  long  like  Tan 
talus  ;  for  ever  reaching  for  golden  fruits  and  cool 
ing  water,  and  continually  denied  ?  Say,  Alice,  can 
this  be  my  duty  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  friend,  it  is  not  your  duty  to  give  up 
all  these  ;  but  it  is  your  duty,  under  present  circum 
stances,  to  live  your  poetry  instead  of  writing  it" 

"  Live  my  .poetry,  Alice  ?     Pray  explain." 

"  The  sweetest  poems,  Ellen,  are  those  which  are 
unwritten.  You  will  find  them  in  living  characters, 
in  the  lines  which  furrow  the  brows  of  suffering 
women ;  you  will  read  them  in  the  white  locks  of 
toil-spent  men.  The  brightest  epic  is  a  life  of  self- 
sacrifice,  and  the  sweetest  lyric  a  lifetime  of  love." 

"  But  there  are  enough  in  the  world,"  said  Ellen, 
"  who  will  not  work.  Dull  plodders,  who  have  no 
aspirations  above  the  level  of  the  actual." 

"  N  ot  so,  my  friend.  '  Labor,'  says  Carlyle,  *  is 
the  essence  of  all  heroism.'  We  have  no  right  to 
lay  our  burdens  on  the  shoulders  of  others." 


90  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"Here  we  are,"  said  Ellen,  "at  the  half-way 
stone.  Let  us  sit  down.  I  believe,  Alice,  you  are 
my  good  angel ;  for  you  always  encourage  me  with 
some  higher  view  of  life.  I  wish  I  were  as  strong 
as  you.  Will  you  tell  me  your  idea  of  a  true 
poet?" 

' '  The  true  poet,"  said  Alice,  "  is,  to  me,  a  great 
soul,  capable  at  once  of  high  aspirations  and  simple 
affections.  The  inner  world  is  his  home,  and  he 
can  read  the  mysteries  of  the  veiled  heart.  One 
need  not  necessarily  write  to  be  a  poet.  Poetry  is 
Love,  and  Love  is  God ;  so  he  that  loves  becomes 
like  God,  and  is  a  poet.  He  who  loves  his  brother, 
and  helps  humanity  everywhere  ;  who  chooses  the 
path  of  duty,  whether  rough  or  flowery,  and  walks 
in  it  thanking  God,  —  he  is  a  poet." 

"  I  can  see,  Alice,"  said  Ellen,  "  that  you  mean 
to  tell  me  my  duty.  Well,  I  need  it.  I  confess  I 
have  felt  envious  of  others,  that  I  have  grumbled  at 
the  occupations  which  I  deemed  menial.  When  1 
milked  the  cow,  or  washed  the  dishes,  I  have  thought 
of  the  jewelled  hands  of  my  schoolmates,  and  mur 
mured  at  my  lot.  Henceforth,  I  will  try  to  live  a 
little  poetry." 

There  was  another  silence,  which  Alice  finally 
broke  by  asking  Ellen  what  situation  Miss  Newton 
had  secured  for  her. 

"  It  is  a  vacancy  in  the  Graham  Institute.  I  ain 
to  teach  Botany  and  Rhetoric,  my  favorite  branches 


THE    TRUE    POET.  91 

you  know.  But  then,"  and  the  old  sadness  came 
back  to  her  face,  "  how  I  am  going  to  keep  at 
school  I  don't  know.  Mother  must  have  help,  or 
she  will  die." 

"  You  must  throw  off  despondency,  and  work. 
If  I  could  contrive  a  way  to  help  you,  would  you 
accept  my  aid  ?  " 

"  Any  thing  from  you,  dear  Alice !  you  are  so 
good.  How  I  wish  I  were  like  you,  a  blessing  to 
every  one !  " 

Alice  put  her  hand  on  Ellen's  lips,  and  said,  — 
"  Goodby  now :  you  will  be  better  in  the  morn 
ing  ;  and  perhaps  I  shall  have  something  to  tell 
you." 

A  new  idea  had  entered  Alice' s  mind ;  and  she 
proceeded  to  act  upon  it. 


CHAPTER  XH. 

ALICE    AND    THE   JUDGE. 

WITH  a  light  and  happy  heart,  Alice  crossed  the 
meadow,  climbed  over  the  huge  stepping-stones,  and 
entered  the  road.  She  was  happy,  because  she  was 
bound  on  a  mission  of  benevolence.  So  absorbed  was 
she  in  her  own  thoughts,  that  she  did  not  hear  light 
footsteps  behind  her,  till  a  childish  voice  exclaimed, 
"  Oh  !  is  it  you,  Miss  Alice  ?  I  am  so  glad  to  see 
you!" 

Alice  turned  round.  A  pretty  child,  with  rosy 
cheeks,  stood  before  her.  Her  bonnet  had  partly 
fallen  from  her  head.  One  plump  hand  held  a  basket, 
filled  with  flowers  and  mosses ;  while  with  the  other 
she  held  back  her  dog,  who  was  trying  to  show  his 
joy  by  leaping  on  Alice  with  his  great  paws. 

"  Down,  Bouncer  !  Haven't  you  any  manners  ? 
You  must  excuse  him,  Miss  Alice ;  for  I  rqally  don't 
think  he  knows  any  better.  Father  says  he  thinks 
some  dogs  have  souls.  Do  you,  Miss  Alice  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Nina.     You  must  ask  them." 

"But  they  can't  speak!  " 

"  And  consequently,"  said  Alice,  "  we  shall  never 
know  whether  they  have  souls  or  not.  But  where 
have  you  been  this  afternoon,  Nina  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  went  down  to  the  brook  to  see  Edward 


ALICE    AND    THE   JUD&E.  93 

fish.  But  I  felt  so  bad  to  see  the  pretty  trout  flap 
ping  on  that  dreadful  hook,  that  I  went  over  the 
hill  to  get  some  mosses  for  my  castle.  See  !  aren't 
they  pretty?"  and  the  child  drew  up  the  bright 
green  mosses  from  her  basket. 

"  They  are  very  pretty,  Nina.  But  where  is  your 
castle?" 

"  Oh !  I'm  building  it  at  the  foot  of  the  apple-tree 
in  the  orchard.  I've  made  it  out  of  gray  bark ;  and 
this  moss  will  fill  up  the  cracks." 

"  I'm  going  down  to  your  house  now,"  said  Alice, 
"  and  I  can  stop  and  see  it." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad !  "  cried  Nina  delightedly. 
"Then,  perhaps,  you  will  tell  me  how  to  make  the 
loopholes.  Brother  Edwarjl  said  I  must  have  some. 
Did  you  know  my  brother  Edward  had  come  home, 
Alice  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  suppose  you  are  glad,  are  you 
not?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  the  child.  "  And  he  likes  you  ; 
for  he  asked  father  who  that  young  lady  was  that 
sat  opposite  our  pew  on  Sunday,  and  I  told  him  it 
was  my  sabbath  teacher,  and  I  loved  her  very  much. 
He  said  he  thought  he  should  too.  Isn't  he  a 
funny  brother,  Alice  ?  " 

"  You  mustn't  speak  of  these  things,  Nina.  Your 
brother  did  not  mean  that  you  should  tell  any  one." 

Judge  Hall's  splendid  residence  was  surrounded 
with  extensive  grounds.  A  broad  avenue  led  to  the 


94  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

house ;  and  the  tall  elms  stretched  their  shadows 
across  the  lawn.  As  they  opened  the  gate,  little 
Freddy,  the  youngest  child,  ran  to  meet  them  ;  for 
he  had  seen  Alice  much,  and  learned  to  love  her. 

"  Won't  you  come  and  look  at  my  castle  ?  "  said 
Nina. 

"  No,  not  now,"  replied  Alice.  "  I  want  to  see 
your  father." 

Alice's  ring  was  answered  by  a  noble-looking 
young  man,  who  invited  her  into  the  parlor.  "  My 
father  is  occupied  just  at  present,"  said  he,  "but  will 
be  in  soon."  He  introduced  himself  with  graceful 
ease, —  spoke  of  books,  and  foreign  travel ;  but  Alice 
could  not  help  remembering  Nina's  words,  and  she 
felt  uncomfortable.  He  had  spent  three  years  at 
the  German  Law  School  at  Heidelberg ;  and  had 
come  back  a  polished  and  thoroughly  educated  man. 
Much  as  Alice  enjoyed  his  conversation,  she  felt  re 
lieved  when  Judge  Halt  came  in  and  his  son  retired. 

The  judge  was  a  corpulent,  good-natured  man. 
His  cheeks  were  as  red  as  the  rosy  side  of  a  win 
ter's  apple  ;  and  his  eyes  were  blue,  the  very  color 
of  virtue. 

Alice  was  a  general  favorite  in  the  family, —  from 
the  judge,  who  always  expressed  vast  partiality  for 
her,  down  to  little  Freddy,  who  remembered  the 
paper  boats  she  had  built  for  him,  and  the  kites  she 
knew  so  well  how  to  make. 

"Well,  Miss  Morton,"  said  he,  "you  must  ex- 


ALICE    AND   THE   JUDGE.  95 

cuse  me,  but  some  law-papers  detained  me.     1  am 
truly  glad  to  see  you  !  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Alice.  "  I  came  to  lay  a  pro 
position  before  you,  if  you  will  be  troubled  with  it." 

The  judge  signified  his  willingness  to  be  troubled. 

"  You  know  Ellen  Lee,  do  you  not  ?  "  said  Alice. 

"  "What,  —  the  Widow  Lee's  daughter  ?  Yes  ; 
and  she  is  a  fine  girl,  —  the  finest  I  know  except 
one." 

Alice  would  not  notice  the  sly  hint,  but  con 
tinued  :  "  Ellen's  mother  supports  herself  by  her 
needle  ;  and,  now  her  son  is  away,  she  finds  it  hard 
work  to  live.  Ellen  is  very  ambitious,  and  wishes 
to  be  a  teacher.  She  has  a  situation  already  offered 
her,  in  case  she  finishes  her  studies, —  for  she  is  the 
best  scholar  in  the  seminary ;  but  her  mother's 
health  is  so  poor,  that,  unless  she  can  have  aid,  Ellen 
will  have  to  leave  school  altogether." 

"  How  much  would  she  need  ?  "  interrupted  the 
judge. 

"Oh!  they  never  would  accept  charity,  were  it 
never  so  delicate.  I  think  I  have  a  better  way,  if 
you  approve  it.  I  think  you  told  me  some  time  ago 
that  you  would  like  to  get  some  one  to  give  Nina 
and  Freddy  single  lessons,  did  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  did  think  some  of  it,"  replied  he. 

"  Then,  if  you  do  wish  such  a  one,  let  me  beg  you 
to  employ  Ellen  Lee.  It  would  be  doing  a  good 
deed.  She  has  an  hour  and  a  half  at  noon,  which 


96  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

she  could  devote  to  this ;  and  it  would  help  her  so 
much ! " 

Alice's  whole  heart  was  in  the  work,  and  she  was 
unconscious  of  the  earnestness  of  her  manner. 

"I  declare/'  said  the  judge  admiringly,  "you'd 
make  an  extra  pleader.  I  believe  I  shall  surrender 
at  discretion." 

"  And  may  I  tell  Ellen  to  come  ? "  said  Alice, 
blushing. 

"  Yes :  upon  the  whole,  I  guess  you  may,"  said 
the  judge.  "  If  she  can  manage  the  children,  it 
will  be  a  good  thing  for  them." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you !  "  said  Alice.  "  I  was 
afraid  you  had  engaged  some  one  else.  Ellen  will 
be  so  happy  !  " 

"But  why  did  she  not  come  herself?  "  inquired 
the  judge. 

"  She  knows  nothing  about  it,"  replied  Alice. 
"  She  was  telling  me  of  her  troubles,  and  I  thought 
perhaps  you  might  be  willing  to  help  her.  It  will 
be  a  very  pleasant  surprise  to  her." 

"  Well,  you  may  tell  her  to  come  to-morrow  noon, 
and  I  will  see  her.  And  now  what  shall  I  do  for 
you,  Miss  Alice  ?  " 

"  You'  will  please  receive  my  thanks  for  your 
kind  favor,"  said  Alice. 

"  But  do  you  never  think  of  yourself,  child  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Mr.  Hall  ;  I  am  selfish  in  many 
ways.  I  am  very  exacting  about  the  love  of  my 


ALICE    AND   THE   JUDGE.  97 

friends.  If  I  do  any  thing  for  them,  I  want  a  great 
deal  of  love  in  payment.  I  have  not  yet  learned  to 
give,  hoping  for  nothing  again." 

Alice  rose  to  go. 

"  I  am  a  blunt  man,"  said  the  judge,  "  and  my 
life  has  lost  its  morning  flush.  I  cannot  trust  men 
as  I  did  once ;  but  I  believe  the  Lord  made  an  angel 
when  he  made  you.  May  he  keep  your  heart  from 
every  shadow  of  trial !  " 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Alice  ;  "  but  I  pray  not  so. 
Ask  him  rather  to  afflict  me  as  he  seeth  good  ;  for, 
without  the  discipline  of  sorrow,  the  soul  may  never 
know  its  strength,  or  unfold  its  wings." 

"  A  strange  girl,  and  too  thoughtful,"  said  the 
judge  to  himself. 

Edward  Hall  sat  upon  the  piazza  as  she  passed 
out,  and  begged  so  politely  to  attend  her  to  the 
seminary,  that  she  could  not  refuse. 

"  I  think  it  is  perfectly  scandalous,"  said  Evelina 
Cobb,  who  was  peeping  through  the  blinds,  when 
Edward  took  leave  of  Alice  at  the  gate. 

"  I  always  said  there  was  mischief  under  all  that 
girl's  sanctimonious  manners,"  said  Jane  Swift. 

"  Truly,  '  there  is  that  maketh  himself  poor,  yet 
hath  great  riches,' "  said  the  judge  to  himself,  as  he 
sat  in  his  library  that  night. 

"  What  did  you  say,  father,"  said  Edward. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Alice  Morton,"  said  his  father 
"  She  is  a  poor  orphan  ;  but  the  wealth  of  her  mind 
5 


98  THE   SHEAVES   OF   LOVE. 

and  heart  is  inexhaustible.     Happy  they  who .  are 
favored  with  her  self-forgetting  friendship." 

ft  I  think  her  a  true  lady,"  said  his  son.  "  I  have 
not  met  with  such  great  dignity  and  modesty  among 
the  most  polished  women  of  Europe." 


CHAPTER 

LIZZIE'S     JEWELS. 

"  IT  is  impossible,  Emily,"  said  Mr.  Whiting,  as 
he  rose  to  go.  "  I  cannot  spare  the  money  to-day." 

"But  it  is  only  five  hundred  dollars,"  said  the 
lady  fretfully,  as  she  balanced  her  spoon  on  the 
edge  of  her  cup.  "  Lizzie  has  set  her  heart  on 
wearing  those  ornaments  to-morrow  night.  It 
wouldn't  hurt  you  to  gratify  the  child  in  such  a 
trifle." 

"  But  it  would  hurt  me,"  said  her  husband.  "  I 
have  a  heavy  note  to  pay  to-day,  and  it  will  require 
all  my  means  to  meet  it.  Next  week,  perhaps,  I 
could  let  you  have  it." 

"  Just  a  week  too  late,"  said  the  lady  pettishly. 
"For  my  part,  I  don't  think  you  need  to  refuse. 
You  don't  think  any  thing  of  paying  out  a  large 
sum  of  money  when  the  girls'  school-bills  come  in, 
and  you  always  settle  Fred's  enormous  accounts 
without  a  word.  And  you  can  pay  two  hundred 
dollars  for  a  gold  watch  for  Alice  ;  but,  when  your 
own  daughter  asks  a  favor,  she  must  be  denied." 

Mr.  Whiting's  brow  clouded.  "  I  have  always 
tried  to  satisfy  every  reasonable  desire,"  said  he ; 
"  but  I  have  told  you  why  I  cannot  meet  this  de 
mand.  As  for  the  girls'  school-bills,  they  shall  be 


100  THE    SHEAVES   OF   LOVE. 

paid  as  long  as  I  have  a  cent.  They  are  buying 
what  is  worth  far  more  than  jewels,  —  education 
and  character." 

"  A  vast  sight  of  good  their  school  will  do  them !  " 
said  his  wife.  "  They  will  come  back  as  prim  as  old 
maids,  and  as  awkward  as  bean-poles." 

"  Better  so,"  was  the  reply,  f '  than  to  be  fashion 
able  flirts  ;  "  an.d,  thus  saying,  Mr.  Whiting  took  his 
hat  from  the  hall,  and  left  the  house. 

The  lady  still  balanced,  her  spoon  on  the  edge  of 
her  cup,  and  drummed  the  carpet  with  her  foot ; 
while  her  vexation  grew  stronger  every  minute. 
The  chocolate  was  cooling,  and  the  toast  was  cold ; 
and  still  Lizzie  had  not  made  her  appearance  at  the 
breakfast-table.  Mrs.  Whiting  pulled  the  bell,  and 
sent  for  her.  No  morning  greetings  passed  between 
the  mother  and  her  stylish  daughter ;  but  Lizzie's 
first  inquiry  was,  "  Well,  mother,  what  did  pa  say 
about  the  jewels  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  would  be  as  well  for  you 
to  wear  your  pearls  to-morrow  night,"  said  her 
mother,  when  she  had  explained. 

"  I  won't  do  any  such  thing,"  said  Lizzie  ;  "  I've 
worn  those  pearls  till  I'm  tired  of  the  sight  of  them. 
Louis  Melville  will  be  there,  and  I  won't  have  Isa 
bella  Howard  outdo  me." 

Mrs.  Whiting  declared  that  such  things  always 
gave  her  a  dreadful  headache,  and  retired  to  her 
room. 


LIZZIE'S  JEWELS.  101 

"  I  will  have  them,"  said  Lizzie,  as  she  rose  from 
her  chair,  and  placed  her  foot  firmly  upon  the  floor. 
"  If  begging  won't  bring  them,  perhaps  teasing  will. 
Father  never  refused  me  any  thing  yet,  and  I  don't 
believe  he  will  now." 

The  cloud  was  still  upon  Mr.  Whiting's  brow  as 
he  sat  down  to  dinner.  Lizzie  was  very  pleasant 
and  thoughtful, : — for  she  could  be  good-natured 
when  it  suited  her  convenience.  The  unwonted 
kindness  of  his  daughter  lifted  the  shadow  some 
what  from  the  face  of  her  too  indulgent  father ;  for 
he  did  not  suspect  that  she  was  selfish,  even  in  her 
kindness.  In  truth,  he  had  almost  forgotten  the 
morning's  scene,  in  his  business  troubles.  The  fail 
ure  of  a  heavy  firm  which  was  indebted  to  him  had 
rendered  it  very  difficult  for  him  to  meet  his  pay 
ments." 

"Father,"  said  Lizzie,  as  he  pushed  his  chair 
away  from  his  almost  untasted  dinner,  "wont  you 
please  buy  me  those  jewels  ?  " 

The  cloud  settled  again  upon  her  father's  face. 

"  I  cannot  to-day,  Lizzie.  Would  you  have  them 
at  the  risk  of  your  father's  credit  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  five  hundred  dollars  can  affect 
a  wealthy  man  like  you.  Other  girls  have  every 
thing  they  want,  and  I  don't  see  why  I  cant." 

"  Lizzie,  listen  to  me,"  said  her  father.  "  I  will 
explain  the  whole  matter  to  you,  and  then  if  you 
still  desire  the  jewels  you  shall  have  them.  I  have 


102  THE   SHEAVES    OF   LOVE. 

confidence  enough  in  your  judgment ;  and  I  throw 
the  decision  entirely  on  your  good  sense.  There  is 
a  heavy  firm  out  West,"  continued  he,  "  who  have 
recently  failed.  I  held  a  note  of  theirs  for  a  large 
sum,  and  I  was  depending  on  this  to  meet  my  own 
regular  payments.  Others  have  suffered  from  the 
same  cause,  so  that  a  general  pressure  is  felt  among 
business  men.  Those  who  can  pass  this  crisis  and 
redeem  their  notes  at  the  bank  will  come  out  doubly 
strong ;  but  those  who  cannot  will  find  their  credit 
shaken.  Now,  this  money  which  you  want  may  pos 
sibly  help  me  a  great  deal.  If  money  is  easy,  I  can 
stand  without  difficulty  ;  but,  if-  not,  this  five  hun 
dred  dollars  might  supply  the  very  deficiency  in 
point.  Now  I  am  sure,  Lizzie,  you  will  answer 
like  a  true-minded  girl.  Let  my  daughter  respect 
herself,  and  let  the  foolish  fancy  go." 

Mr.  Whiting's  mild  blue  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
his  daughter's  face ;  but  Lizzie  never  looked  up,  but 
kept  on  tracing  out  the  figure  on  the  carpet  with  her 
foot.  He  thought,  perhaps,  it  would  be  well  to 
leave  her  alone,  that  she  might  not  decide  hastily. 

"  Lizzie,"  said  he,  "  I  am  going  out  a  few  mo 
ments.  I  shall  expect  your  answer  when.  I  return. 
Remember  that  I  never  refused  you  any  thing  that  I 
could  rightly  give ;  and  think,  also,  how  much  de 
pends  on  your  decision." 

Mr.  Whiting  did  not  once  doubt  that  Lizzie  would 
be  true  to  her  better  nature.  He  did  not  know  that 


LIZZIE'S  JEWELS.  103 

the  root  of  selfishness  and  the  fibres  of  vanity  strike 
deeper  even  than  duty  or  filial  love. 

Lizzie  rose  from  the  table,  and  went  to  the  glass. 
r<  It  is  too  bad ! "  said  she,  as  she  smoothed  back  her 
hair  from  her  temples ;  "•  those  jewels  would  just 
suit  my  style.  I  don't  believe  he  would  know  the 
difference  in  a  month.  And  then  Isabella  Howard 
says  that  all  fathers  are  alike.  They  are  always 
pleading  poverty.  Yes,  yes,  I  must  have  them !  " 
she  repeated  to  herself.  "  I  will  have  them.  I  can't 
help  it  if  it  is  wrong,"  she  replied,  to  the  faint 
whisper  of  her  stifled  conscience.  "  Louis  Melville 
will  be  there,  and  I  must  have  them  !  " 

Mr.  Whiting's  step  sounded  in  the  hall,  and  every 
footfall  made  Lizzie's  heart  beat  faster.  She  felt 
that  she  was  about  to  degrade  herself,  and  disappoint 
him. 

"  Well,  Lizzie  ? " 

"  I  wish  —  that  is,  I  thought,  —  I  have  decided 
to  have  the  jewels,"  she  faltered,  with  her  eyes  still 
fixed  upon  the  carpet.  She  dared  not  look  up  to 
meet  the  reproach  she  knew  was  in  his  gaze. 

"  My  daughter !  "  What  a  world  of  tender  sad 
ness,  of  disappointed  love,  was  in  those  words ! 
Silently,  and  with  a  strange  heaviness  of  heart,  he 
left  her  there,  and  closed  the  street-door  behind 
him. 

That  afternoon  saw  Lizzie  Whiting  the  possessor 
of  the  coveted  jewels ;  but  the  memory  of  that  sad 


104  THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

voice  seemed  to  rob  them  of  half  their  lustre.  Her 
fashionable  mother  praised  her  tact,  and  said  she  had 
managed  it  finely.  Her  young  lady  friends  flat 
tered  and  envied  her,  and  that  was  all. 

But  was  it  all  ? 

That  afternoon  saw  Mr.  Whiting  weary  and  dis 
couraged.  With  his  utmost  endeavors,  he  still 
lacked  somewhat  of  the  sum  required.  His  paper 
had  never  been  dishonored,  and  the  very  thought 
was  madness.  He  was  obliged  to  do  what  he  never 
had  done  before,  —  borrow  money  at  a  ruinous  inte 
rest  to  save  his  credit  at  the  bank. 

And  this  was  all.  But  was-  it  all  ?  Was  it  no 
thing  that  a  father's  faith  in  his  child  was  shaken  ? 
was  it  nothing  that  the  daughter,  whose  father's  fond 
indulgence  should  have  met  the  reward  of  sympathy 
and  love,  had  given  him  back  only  a  selfish  ingrati 
tude  ?  It  is  true  that  the  money  might  not  have 
saved  Mr.  Whiting  from  his  embarrassments  ;  but, 
oh !  how  the  memory  of  a  fond  child's  loving  self- 
sacrifice  would  have  lightened  the  heavy  heart  he 
bore  home  with  him  that  night ! 

Who  shall  blame  him  if  bitter  thoughts  were  in 
his  mind  ?  It  was  just  dusk,  and  the  laborers  were 
going  home  with  light  hearts  from  their  work.  Mr. 
Whiting  thought  of  the  homely  hearths  made  plea 
sant  for  them  by  household  mirth  and  childish 
laughter ;  and  then,  turning  the  picture,  he  saw  his 
own  cheerless  rooms,  where  even  the  sunlight  could 


LIZZIE'S  JEWELS.  105 

not  penetrate,  lest  it  should  fade  the  velvet  furniture 
and  costly  carpets.  Even  love  and  tenderness  were 
banished,  because  they  were  too  common  and  un- 
genteel.  Fashion  and  folly  had  plucked  all  the 
sweet  fruits  of  his  life,  and  thrown  him  the  empty 
husks. 

Mr.  "Whiting  ate  his  supper  from  a  service  of  the 
finest  of  Sevres  china ;  but,  for  all  that,  his  heart 
was  heavy,  and  he  would  gladly  have  exchanged  it 
for  the  poor  laborer's  earthen  bowl,  for  but  a  tithe  of 
the  aid  and  sympathy  he  received.  How  rich,  and 
yet  how  poor !  Splendid  misery  at  home,  —  a  cold 
world  beyond !  A  nervous,  gloomy  wife  at  home, 
—  a  smiling,  fashionable  wife  in  society !  A  selfish, 
vain  daughter  at  home,  —  a  gay,  beautiful  belle  in 
society !  What  was  life  to  him,  but  an  empty 
gilding  ? 

.  He  took  out  his  letters,  and  singled  out  one  with 
a  dainty  white  envelope :  it  was  from  Alice, 
and  was  filled  with  words  of  gratitude  and  affection. 
And,  what  was  best,  he  knew  that  it  was  not  mere 
lip-service.  He  remembered  how  many  times  the 
ready  hands  had  done  him  service ;  and  how 
many  times  the  sweet  voice  had  said,  "  Dear  Uncle 
William !  "  Alice  had  sent  her  best  love  to  black 
John,  and  asked  Uncle  William  to  tell  Content  that 
she  had  bought  a  bright  bandanna  to  give  her  when 
she  came  home. 

Mr.  Whiting  had  been  restless  and  uneasy  all  the 

5* 


106  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

evening.  His  wife  and  daughter  were  away,  and 
the  great  rooms  seemed  desolate.  "  I  have  a  great 
mind,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  to  go  into  the  kitchen 
and  see  John  and  Content."  So  he  passed  through 
the  long  passage,  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

Content  opened  it. 

"  Lor'  bress  us,  Massa  Whiting  !  —  am  any  thing 
de  matter  ?  " 

"  No,  Content !     I've  only  come  to  see  you." 

"  Thank  ye,"  said  she,  dropping  a  short  courtesy, 
and  brushing  the  bottom  of  a  chair  vigorously  with  her 
apron.  "Ole  John  just  done  been  reading.  Better 
stop  now,"  she  added,  in  a  loud  whisper  to  John. 

"No,  no!  —  go  on,"  said  Mr.  Whiting. 

John  read  in  his  broken  way,  —  with  his  finger 
pointing  to  the  words  as  he  spoke,  — "  There  is 
that  maketh  himself  rich,  yet  hath  nothing  ;  there  is 
that  maketh  himself  poor,  yet  hath  great  riches." 

Mr.  Whiting  listened,  half  in  awe.  It  seemed 
like  a  voice  from  heaven.  The  proud  man  felt 
humbled  before  a  poor  unlettered  black.  He  did 
not  like  to  think  of  it,  but  told  John  he  had  better 
put  away  the  book,  as  he  had  something  to  tell 
them  ;  and  then  he  delivered  Alice's  message. 

The  tears  stood  in  John's  eyes,  and  he  said 
nothing  ;  but  Content  was  loud  in  her  joy. 

(f  May  de  good  Lor'  bress  de  dear  chile ! "  said 
she.  "  He  done  make  her  an  angel  already !  " 

Mr.  Whiting  thought  perhaps  she  was  right. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE    HUSKING.      . 

"  WON'T  it  be  splendid,  girls  ?  "  exclaimed  Emma 
Weston,  as  she  bounded  into  the  school-room. 
"  Judge  Hall  is  going  to  give  a  husking  party  next 
Friday  night,  and  we're  all  invited." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  just  fit  work  for  young  ladies," 
said  the  nice  Lucy  Howard. 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  some  others ;  "  but  we 
always  have  such  a  good  time  at  the  judge's." 

The  autumn  had  come,  and  thrown  its  gold  and 
purple  glory  over  the  forests  and  hill-sides.  The 
brown  nuts  dropped  in  the  woods,  the  grey 
squirrels  were  providing  for  the  winter,  and  the 
evening  cricket  sang  a  shriller  melody  in  the  grass. 
It  was  the  joyous  harvest-time,  —  the  season  of  New 
England  merry-making.  The  apples  were  gathered 
in  the  orchards ;  and  the  fields  were  bare  and  deso 
late,  save  where  some  golden  pumpkin  turned  its 
cheek  to  the  noonday  sun. 

Judge  Hall  was  a  New-Englander  of  the  good  old 
stock,  and  he  delighted  in  reviving  the  customs  of 
our  forefathers.  He  believed  in  Thanksgiving  cheer, 
and  subscribed  to  Christmas  apples,  cider,  and 
chicken  pies ;  and  never  a  year  passed  that  he  did 


108  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE 

not   invite  the  youth  of  the  village  to  a   famous 
husking. 

Friday  evening  came,  and  the  girls,  one  by  one, 
gathered  in  the  dressing-room,  ready  for  departure. 

"  Alice  !  Alice !  where  are  you  ?  "  The  voice  was 
loud  and  petulant. 

"  Here  I  am,  Cousin  Ada ;  but  please  don't 
make  so  much  noise,  for  Lily's  head  aches  badly." 
.  " Come,"  said  Ada,  — "here  we've  been  hunting 
for  you  half  an  hour,  and  you're  not  ready  yet.  I 
declare,"  said  she,  "  its  enough  to  provoke  a  saint ! 
Here  you  are  plodding  round,  and  not  even  dressed. 
You  grow  more  and  more  old-maidish  every  day." 

"  Please,  cousin,  don't  make  so  much  noise," 
said  Alice  pleadingly.  "  I'm  afraid  that  Lily  is  really 
sick." 

Lily  lay  hot  and  feverish.  Her  brovr  was  heated 
and  flushed.  Ada  thought  perhaps  she  might  be 
sick,  after  all. 

"  I  believe  I  ought  not  to  go,"  said  Alice. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  go  by  all  means,"  said  Lily ;  "  I 
wouldn't  deprive  you  of  so  much  pleasure.  I  suspect 
it  is  nothing  more  than  a  cold.  I  sat  by  the  window 
last  night,  and  my  lungs  feel  very  much  oppressed. 
You  couldn't  do  me  any  good  if  you  stay ;  for  I 
shall  retire  immediately,  and  try  to  sleep  it  off." 

"  As  true  as  I  live,  I  haven't  got  any  thing  decent 
to  wear,"  said  Evelina  Cobb,  as  she  pulled  dress 
after  dress  out  of  her  trunk. 


THE    HUSKING.  109 

< t  Why  don't  you  wear  your  new  muslin  ?  "  ven 
tured  Jane  Swift. 

"  Horror  !  I  wouldn't  be  seen  with  it.  It  isn't 
an  evening  dress.  On  the  whole,  I  believe  I'll  wear 
my  pink  silk."  So  the  old  pink  silk  was  brought 
up  from  the  bottom  of  the  trunk,  where  it  had  lain 
waiting,  as  Evelina  had  before  said,  till  she  should 
be  invited  to  some  ball.  Jane  ventured  to  suggest 
that  she  didn't  think  it  was  just  suitable  to  husk 
corn  in  ;  but  Evelina  declared  she  had  no  doubt 
there  would  be  many  city  people  there,  and  she 
wanted  them  to  know  she  was  somebody. 

"  I  know  the  true  reason  why  you  are  so  particu 
lar/'  said  Jane.  "  Edward  Hall  will  be  there.  But 
you  don't  stand  any  chance  if  Alice  Morton  goes,  for 
they  say  he  adores  her." 

"  They  say  !     Who  says  ?  " 

"  Why,  —  they,  of  course.  Not  any  one  in  par 
ticular,  —  they" 

The  harvest  moon  hung  low  in  the  sky  as  the 
two  girls  left  the  seminary.  Beyond  the  brow  of 
the  hill,  they  could  see  the  windows  of  the  judge's 
house  brilliantly  illuminated;  and  the  sound  of 
music  and  festivity  came  to  their  ears. 

Little  Nina  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  as  the 
young  ladies  passed  in. 

"  Has  Miss  Ellen  come  ?  I  want  to  see  Miss 
Ellen." 

Ellen  came  forward  to  speak  to  her  little  pupil. 


110  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

Nina's  spirits  were  exuberant,  and  she  could  hardly 
command  her  tongue  to  tell  her  teacher  that  her 
father  wished  to  see  her  in  the  library. 

"  What  can  it  be  ?  "  thought  Ellen,  half  in  con 
sternation.  She  could  think  of  no  neglected  duty, 
and  concluded  to  put  an  end  to  suspense  by  answer 
ing  the  call  immediately. 

The  great  barns  were  hung  with  lanterns,  and  the 
corn  was  thrown  in  great  heaps  on  the  floor.  The 
girls  quickly  appropriated  the  stools,  and  commenced 
the  novel  work  with  a  good  will.  Some  kind  hand 
seemed  to  have  plentifully  sprinkled  the  heaps  with 
red  ears,  and  much  confusion  and  many  kisses  was 
the  result. 

It  was  a  pretty  scene.  Bright  faces  were  radiant 
with  smiles  ;  nimble  fingers  robbed  the  golden  ears 
of  their  rough  coats  ;  and  music  and  lively  talk 
made  every  thing  cheerful  and  happy.  It  made 
Alice  think  of  her  own  home,  and  brought  to  her 
mind  the  pleasant  huskings  and  apple-gatherings 
of  long  ago.  To  most  of  the  girls,  however,  it  was 
a  new  scene;  and  they  seemed  to  enjoy  it  highly. 
Alice  would  have  been  very  happy,  had  not  the 
thought  of  Lily  saddened  her  ;  and  she  almost 
blamed  herself  for  coming. 

"  Miss  Lee,"  said  Edward,  addressing  Ellen,  "  can 
you  tell  me  who  that  girl  is,  standing  by  Miss  Mor 
ton?" 

"  That  is  Evelina  Cobb,"  replied  Ellen. 


THE    HUSKING.  Ill 

"What  a  contrast !  "  ejaculated  her  companion, 
well  he  might  say  so.  Evelina's  showy  dress 
simpeiiug  airs  appeared  in  all  their  deformity, 
beside  Alice's  neat  dress  and  simple  manners. 

Towards  the  latter  part  of  the  evening,  Ellen 
drew  Alice  aside,  and  told  her  of  her  interview  with 
the  judge.  It  seemed  that  he  had  interested  him 
self  for  Charles,  and,  by  his  influence,  induced  other 
gentlemen  to  acknowledge  his  talents,  and  give  him 
employment.  And  now  these  gentlemen,  patrons 
of  art,  and  eager  to  encourage  home  genius,  wished 
to  send  him  to  Europe  to  finish  his  studies  :  while 
be  copied  famous  pictures  by  their  order. 

"  It  is  owing  to  you,  indirectly,"  said  Ellen ;  "  for, 
if  I  had  not  come  here  to  teach,  the  judge  would 
not  have  so  interested  himself  for  Charles.  How 
shall  I  ever  thank  you  ?  " 

"  By  saying  nothing  about  such  a  poor  little  favor. 
But  do  you  think  your  mother  will  be  willing  to 
have  him  go  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  think  she  will.  Of  course,  it  will 
cause  her  much  anxiety  ;  but  then  she  knows  it  has 
always  been  a  cherished  hope  of  Charles,  that  he 
might  some  day  walk  the  soil  hallowed  by  the  tread 
of  the  world's  great  painters,  and  drink  a  new  in 
spiration  from  the  very  fountain-head  of  art.  O 
Alice !  it  is  a  glorious  thought !  I  wish  I  might 
once  breathe  that  air ;  sanctified  by  ages  of  song, 
and  deified  by  the  very  essence  of  heroism  and 


THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

poesy."  Carried  away  by  her  enthusiasm,  Ellen 
was  unconscious  of  the  company,  and  unmindful 
that  curious  eyes  might  be  upon  her.  Her  eyes 
glowed  with  impassioned  fire,  her  hand  was  raised, 
in  the  force  of  her  feelings ;  and  she  stood  for  the 
moment  like  a  speaking  muse,  pleading  the  cause 
she  loved. 

Alice  was  moved.  She  acknowledged  the  power, 
the  genius  of  her  companion  ;  but  her  feelings  were 
under  the  control  of  reason  and  duty.  Not  that  she 
could  not  be  enthusiastic,  not  that  poetry  and  pas 
sion  had  no  inspiration  for  her  ;  but  because  Reason 
told  her  that  constant  longing  after  things  beyond 
our  reach  was  both  a  weakness  and  a  breach  of 
duty,  when  so  much  of  good  lay  un wrought  at  our 
very  feet. 

There  is  no  being  so  inquisitive  as  the  student  of 
character.  Edward  Hall  was  one  of  these.  He 
delighted  to  trace  in  the  workings  of  the  face,  and 
in  the  conversation  of  those  about  him,  the  peculiar 
motives  which  give  a  bias  to  the  mind,  and  a  form 
to  the  daily  life.  All  this  evening,  he  had  wandered 
from  group  to  group,  drawing  out  this  one,  and 
studying  another,  and  had  been  an  involuntary  lis 
tener  to  our  friends'  conversation. 

"  I  do  wish,  Ellen,"  said  Alice,  "  that  circum 
stances  favored  your  wishes ;  but  you  must  control 
yourself.  Gifts  never  came  by  the  mere  wishing ; 
and  Italy  never  will  come  to  you.  If  your  whole 


THE    HUSKING.  113 

soul  is  bent  on  this  end,  you  will  accomplish  it ;  but 
you  must  give  up  rhapsodies,  and  expend  that  ner 
vous  energy  in  working  for  your  object,  instead  of  a 
mere  effervesence.  But  I  do  hope,  my  dear  friend," 
—  and  Alice's  voice  sank  to  a  deeper  tone,  —  "that 
life  has  some  higher  aim  for  you  than  a  mere  vision 
of  the  land  of  song.  The  ends  of  our  existence  are 
only  met  when  a  noble  labor  sanctifies  life  as  a 
means  to  the  great  Hereafter,  the  infinite  Progres 
sion.  Let  your  genius  be  a  gift  upon  the  altar,  — 
a  constant  incense  from  a  pure  heart ;  so  that  you 
may  say  at  last,  e  I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I  have 
kept  the  faith,  I  have  finished  my  course.  Hence 
forth  there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown  of  glory.' " 

"  Quoting  Scripture,  as  I  live,"  said  Lucy  How 
ard,  as  she  passed  by  them.  The  last  place,  I  should 
think,  for  that." 

But  Ellen  was  unmindful  of  all.  A  new  idea 
had  occurred  to  her,  and  she  grasped  it. 

"  Do  you  believe,  Alice,"  she  said,  "  do  you  know 
that  we  can  do  what  we  will  do  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it  firmly,"  said  Alice,  "  if  we  have  de 
cision  and  energy." 

"Then,"  said  Ellen,  "if  I  live,  I  will  go  to 
Italy." 

Alice  linked  her  arm  in  Ellen's,  and  walked  away. 
Just  then  a  profusion  of  flaxen  hair  and  a  pair  of 
cold  blue  eyes  intercepted  Edward's  vision,  and  a 
voice  exclaimed,  "  Good  evening,  Mr.  Hall ! " 


114  THE    SHEA.VES    OF    LOVE. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Cobb,"  said  Edward  coldly. 

"  "What  a  beautiful  entertainment  you  have  made 
here  !  "  said  Evelina.  "  I  never  attended  a  husking 
before,  and  I'm  perfectly  enchanted." 

Edward  smiled  to  himself,  as  he  remembered 
having  heard  her  declare  to  Ada  that  she  thought 
it  was  one  of  the  meanest  affairs  she  ever  saw,  and 
not  decent  for  genteel  people." 

"  Miss  Cobb,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  student  of  law  ; 
and  the  question  has  come  up  to  me  this  evening, 
whether,  if  a  person  testifies  (  yes '  and  'no *  on  the 
same  subject,  his  word  should  be  taken  as  reliable. 
Excuse  me,  but  I  would  like  to  know  what  you 
think  about  it." 

JEvelina,  who  did  not  see  the  hidden  sarcasm  in 
his  words,  felt  nattered,  and  answered,  — 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  '  law,'  but  I  should 
think  not." 

Edward  replied  by  reciting  a  couplet  he  had  com 
posed  the  year  before :  — 

"  The  double  tongue  is  like  the  double  face, 
Alike  a  condemnation  and  disgrace." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Evelina,  u  I  remember  those  lines 
very  well.  I  have  read  Byron  so  much,  that  I  know 
him  all  by  heart.  Do  you  like  Byron,  Mr.  Hall !  " 

Edward  saw  the  shallowness  of  the  stream  he 
was  fording,  and  thought  he  might  venture  a  little 
deeper. 


THE    HUSKING.  115 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "  Byron  will  do  very  -well. 
Are  you  fond  of  poetry  ?  " 

Oh  !  excessively.  Poetry  is  one  of  the  fine  arts. 
How  thankful  we  ought  to  be  to  those  who  invented 
it!" 

"We  ought,  indeed,"  said  Edward,  with  pro 
found  gravity.  "  Your  remarks  are  just.  Poetry  is 
a  great  discovery,  and  will  go  down  to  posterity  hand 
in  hand  with  the  invention  of  gunpowder  and  the 
printing-press.  But  I  believe  the  world  disputes 
about  the  author  of  the  invention.  Pray,  what  is 
your  opinion,  Miss  Cobb  ?  " 

Edward  was  interested.  He  had  truly  found  an 
interesting  study ;  while  his  poor  victim  believed 
the  very  pain  he  meant  but  a  pleasure  and  a  tri 
umph. 

"  I  think  it  was  got  up  in  Greece,"  she  answered. 
"  They  were  quite  skilful,  I  believe,  in  putting 
words  together." 

Edward  was  delighted  with  his  success.  "Oh, 
yes !  "  he  continued,  "  it  was  a  perfectly  mechanical 
thing.  If  legends  speak  correctly,  they  managed  it 
in  this  way.  In  those  days  they  had  no  railroad : 
but  they  had  a  sort  of  telegraph  between  the  earth 
and  Mount  Parnassus,  by  which  the  poets  could 
send  up  requests,  and  the  muses  return  an  answer. 
So,  when  one  of  the  old  bards  wanted  to  write  a 
poem,  he  just  sent  up  a  message  on  this  '  thread  of 
discourse,'  and  they  sent  back  the  needed  words. 


116  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

It  "was  very  much  like  setting  types.  Excuse  ine," 
said  he,  as  he  noticed  that  one  of  his  friends  was 
nearly  choking  with  mirth, — "  allow  me,  Miss  Cobb, 
to  introduce  to  you  Mr.  White."  Mr.  White  forced 
back  the  laugh  with  a  great  effort,  and  the  fun- 
loving  Edward  left  them  to  continue  the  conversa 
tion  he  had  broken  so  abruptly. 

"  It  is  too  bad,  Edward,"  said  a  friend  who  stood 
by  him.  "  You  were  not  only  rude,  but  positively 
unkind." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Edward,  "  what  sent  that 
dark  trouble  into  your  blue  eyes  ?  Don't  you  know, 
that,  where  people  have  no  sensibilities,  they  cannot 
be  blunted?  And,  when  I  see  folly  and  pretension 
passing  current  among  those  of  real  worth',  I  make 
it  a  point  to  unmask  and  expose  it." 

The  night  was  warm  and  cloudless.  A  walk 
through  the  grounds  was  proposed,  and  many  eagerly 
rose  to  respond  to  the  call.  Edward  was  conscious 
that  many  eyes  were  upon  him ;  but  he  passed  by 
the  gay  dresses  and  jewelled  hands,  and,  seeking  out 
Alice,  begged  leave  to  accompany  her. 

The  harvest  moon  still  threw  its  silver  glory  over 
the  quiet  earth;  the  dew  sparkled  in  the  grass  like 
lost  crystals  ;  and  the  air  was  still  and  waveless,  as 
though  it  said,  "  Hush !  " 

"  Would,"  said  Edward,  "  that  our  lives  might 
flow  as  calmly  into  the  great  future !  What  is  the 
use  of  living  ?  what  is  the  use  of  striving  ?  There 


THE    HUSKING.  117 

is  no  certainty  save  death.  Miss  Morton "  said 
he,  with  a  sudden  energy,  "  do  you  believe  in  love 
and  in  faith  ?  " 

With  a  half-timid  glance,  as  if  she  feared  a  nega 
tive,  she  answered,  "  Yes  :  do  not  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  do ;  but  I  wanted,  to 
strengthen  my  belief  by  hearing  an  avowal  of  yours. 
After  all,  the  simple  trust  of  one  loving  spirit  is 
worth  more  than  all  the  philosophies  of  men.  Ger 
many  is  a  poor  place  in  which  to  learn  faith,  Miss 
Morton." 

Alice  said  she  hoped  the  theories  of  dreamers  had 
not  shaken  his  trust  in  his  fathers'  God. 

"  You  are  severe,"  he  replied.  "  There  is  some 
thing  in  this  you  style  '  theory,'  which,  I  confess, 
holds  me  as  my  fathers'  faith  never  did." 

"  I  was  none  too  severe,  I  think.  It  is  because 
these  dreams  of  the  German  mystics  lead  youth 
astray  from  active  faith  and  duty,  that  I  so  much 
dread  their  influence.  They  fasten  on  the  mind 
while  it  is  not  strong  enough  to  resist,  and  shipwreck 
faith  on  the  rocks  of  a  barren  philosophy."' 

Edward  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "  Pray,  where 
did  you  learn  all  this  ?  " 

Alice  smiled.  "  I  have  read  German  somewhat ; 
and  this  peculiar  form  of  thought  appears  so  plainly 
in  every  thing  they  write,  that  I  could  not  avoid  a 
knowledge  of  it,  even  if  I  would." 

"  And  you  disapprove  it  ?  "  continued  her  com- 


118  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

panion.  "  But  all  things  are  mysterious,  —  no  one 
has  told  us  concerning  a  future  life." 

"  A  divine  voice  whispers  to  us/'  said  Alice,  — 
" '  The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  within  you.' " 

Edward  was  silent  for  some  time  :  at  last  he  said, 
"•I  confess  I  have  given  these  ideas  too  much  scope. 
Will  you  teach  me  faith,  Miss  Morton?  I  could 
not  fail  to  be  an  apt  scholar  under  your  instruction." 

Once  more  Alice  smiled,  —  the  same  old  quiet 
smile.  Edward  noticed  it. 

'*  You  think  me  childish  ?  "  said  he. 

"  No !  oh,  no !  "  said  Alice.  "  I  was  only  think 
ing  how  strange  it  was,  that  you,  who  have  sat  at 
the  feet  of  the  world's  teachers  and  divines,  and  felt 
the  very  droppings  of  wisdom ;  and,  more  than  .all, 
lived  for  so  many  years  in  the  light  of  God's  love 
and  blessing,  —  that  you,  I  say,  should  come  to  me 
and  ask  for  faith.  It  is  a  paradox.  I  am  a  child  in 
argument,  Mr.  Hall." 

"  And,  therefore,  '  the  greatest  in  the  kingdom 
of  heaven,'  "  was  the  reply.  "  I  will  confess  to  you 
that  there  are  times  when  all  the  lore  of  the  schools 
is  folly  to  me ;  and  I  could  throw  myself  at  the  feet 
of  a  loving  disciple  like  you  and  learn  the  alphabet. 
I  was  fortunate  enough  to  hear  your  recent  conver 
sation  with  Miss  Lee.  I  am  proud  of  my  country 
women.  Their  sound  good  sense  is  the  safeguard 
of  the  American  people." 

They  walked   slowly  back  to  the  house.      The 


THE    HUSKING.  119 

barns  were  deserted ;  but  a  bountiful  entertainment 
awaited  the  guests  in  the  dining-room.  Judge  Hall 
literally  carried  out  the  old  New  England  customs. 
No  cakes  or  ices  met  their  view ;  but  huge  turkeys, 
cold  meats,  and  pies  occupied  their  places,  to  the 
astonishment  of  "  eyes  polite." 

The  light  burned  dimly  in  the  chamber  as  Alice 
entered  it  after  her  return  from  the  party.  A  quick 
cry  of  alarm  escaped  her  lips  as  she  saw  Lily's 
flushed  cheeks,  and  listened  to  her  delirious  words. 
She  still  lay  as  she  had  thrown  herself  down  in  her 
tight  dress.  Very  tenderly  Alice  undressed  her, 
smoothed  the  pillow,  and  tried  to  calm  her  excited 
mind ;  but  Lily  did  not  recognize  her. 

"  I  wonder  where  Alice  is  !  "  she  would  say.  "  I 
wish  Alice  would  come  !  They  have  left  me  alone." 

"  No,  Lily  ;  here  I  am,  —  here  is  Alice.  Dear, 
dear  Lily,  don't  you  know  me  ?  "  pleaded  Alice. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  any  of  it.  J'ai,  tu  as,  il  a" 
—  she  muttered.  "  I  can't  recite  it.  Alice  used  to 
love  me  once,  —  go  away,  and  let  Alice  come." 

Alice  reproached  herself  over  and  over  again  for 
leaving  her.  She  smoothed  the  pillow  once  more, 
and  bathed  the  poor  girl's  head.  The  cooling  drops 
seemed  to  calm  her. 

With  sudden  hope  springing  up  in  her  heart,  Alice 
leaned  forward.  "  You  know  me  now,  dear  Lily  ?  " 

A  smile  flitted  over  her  face.  "  Mother ! "  she 
said,  and  sank  into  a  broken  slumber. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE    FADED     F  L  O  W  E  B. 

THE  closing  of  a  young  life  is  like  the  closing  of 
a  flower.  As  the  delicate  petals  fold  over  its  heart 
when  the  darkness  is  abroad,  and  the  chill  night- 
winds  blow,  so  the  eyelids  close  to  all  the  gloom  and 
vain  glories  of  this  earth.  Happy  that  spirit  which, 
like  the  flower,  has  sent  up  its  best  fragrance  for 
Heaven,  and  kept  its  holiest  shrine  pure  and  un 
spotted  from  the  world.  So  pure,  so  calm  and 
holy,  is  death  to  the  earnest  soul.  As  the  flower 
closes  at  night  to  open  again  in  the  broad  light  of 
to-morrow's  sun,  so  our  human  blossoms  shut  their 
weary  eyelids  upon  "  the  valley  of  the  shadow,"  to 
open  the  eyelids  of  the  spirit  in  the  blessed  "man 
sions  of  our  Father's  house." 

Lily  was  dying.  Loving  hearts  could  no  longer 
deceive  themselves  with  a  hope.  Day  by  day  they 
watched  her  growing  paler  and  thinner,  as  the  crim 
son  flush  of  fever  abated.  The  fire  was  going  out 
on  the  hearth  of  life.  The  delirium  had  passed  ; 
and  she  lay  in  a  dreamy  exhaustion,  as  if,  half-disen 
thralled,  she  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  inner 
glory. 

A  hush  settled  over  the  school,  and  loud  voices 
and  bounding  footsteps  died  into  a  softened  murmur 


THE    FADED    FLOWER.  1SJ1 

as  they  passed  the  door  of  the  sick  room.  They 
knew  that  there  Death  and  Life  played  a  fearful 
game  of  shuttlecock,  and  that  Death  had  almost  won. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  a  clear  October  day.  Lily 
lay  propped  up  by  pillows,  —  her  cheek  blanched  by 
suffering,  but  patient,  as  she  always  was.  The  doc 
tor  had  just  been  encouraging  her  by  cheering 
words  ;  but  for  an  answer  Lily  only  shook  her  head, 
and  pointed  upward.  Mrs.  Gushing  had  been  early 
called  to  the  bedside  of  her  child,  and  she  had 
watched  and  prayed  as  none  but  an  idolizing  mother 
can.  Rising,  and  following  the  doctor  to  the  door, 
she  exclaimed,  "  Doctor  !  cannot  you  give  me  some 
hope  ?  oh !  I  pray  you  —  I  implore  you  —  give  me 
some  hope  !  "  "  While  there  is  life  there  is  hope,"  he 
answered.  "  Which  means  you  have  none,"  said  Mrs. 
Gushing,  in  a  voice  of  despair.  "  Oh,  my  Father  ! 
my  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear  !  " 

The  good  doctor  turned  round,  that  she  might  not 
perceive  the  unusual  moisture  in  his  eyes.  "  Whom 
the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth,"  said  he. 

"  Yes  :  I  am  an  alien  from  Him.  I  disobeyed  the 
command,  f  Little  children,  keep  yourselves  from 
idols.'  But,  oh  !  I  cannot  give  her  up,  doctor !  I 
cannot !  Will  he  break  the  bruised  reed  ?  " 

The  agony  of  the  appeal,  the  grief  of  the  heart- 
stricken  mother,  were  too  much  for  the  good  man's 
philosophy ;  he  felt  the  tears  coming,  and,  hastily 
pressing  her  hand,  bade  her  "  good-day,"  and  de- 


THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

parted.  "When  he  had  gone,  Mrs.  Gushing  sat  down 
in  the  upper  hall,  and  gave  way  to  her  grief. 

The  flood,  long  pent  up,  will  burst  forth  at  last. 
Then  she  calmed  herself,  prayed  earnestly  for 
strength,  and  went  back  to  the  bedside  of  her 
departing  child. 

Alice  sat  by  her,  engaged  in  earnest  conversation. 
Lily  never  tired  of  her ;  for  Alice's  sound,  practical 
piety  and  Christian  hope  were  just  what  her  fainting 
soul  needed.  Alice  had  been  talking  to  her  of 
heaven,  of  the  "  Good  Shepherd's  "  love.  Mrs. 
Gushing  paused  on  the  threshold,  as  she  caught  a 
vision  of  Lily's  saint-like  countenance.  A  look  of 
holy  joy  beamed  like  a  dawning  light  upon  her  face  : 
her  mother  clasped  her  hands  involuntarily,  as  if  to 
hold  a  treasure  that  was  escaping  from  her.  "  You 
have  been  weeping,  mother,"  said  she ;  "  oh !  why 
will  you  distress  yourself?  Do  you  not  see  that  I 
am  happy  ?  Dear  mother !  I  love  you  so  much ! 
Shall  you  be  very  sorry  when  I  am  gone  ?  " 

The  old  rushing  flood  in  the  mother's  heart  rose 
up  again,  and  overflowed  her  eyes.  Her  only  reply 
was  a  shower  of  passionate  kisses.  "  Listen,  mother," 
said  Lily  :  "  Alice  has  been  telling  me  of  the  angels, 
of  their  purity  and  love ;  and,  as  I  listened,  her 
voice,  so  soft  and  low,  seemed  to  me  like  the  rust 
ling  of  their  wings  ;  and  her  eyes  did  not  seem  like 
Alice's,  but  like  a  spirit's,  mild  and  earnest,  looking 
down  upon  me  full  of  divine  pity.  I  am  a  poor, 


THE   FADED    FLOWliB.  123 

weak,  human  child,  and  1  forgot  Alice  ;  and  her  low 
talking  seemed  to  me  like  the  words  of  my  angel- 
friend,  and  I  thought  I  was  in  heaven.  I  will  come 
for  you  when  the  sun  is  setting,"  said  she,  "  for  the 
gates  of  heaven  open  wider,  and  let  out  a  whole 
flood  of  glory ;  I  will  come  for  you  then,  and  you 
shall  pass  directly  in  at  the  portals.  Watch  and 
pray.  Behold  !  I  come  quickly."  The  tears  rained 
over  the  mother's  face ;  it  seemed  as  though  the 
mournful  affliction  were  really  come.  "  I  believe 
she  will  come,  mother,"  repeated  Lily,  "  and  I  want 
to  talk  to  you  now  while  I  can.  When  I  am  gone 
to  heaven  you  will  be  very  lonely  :  there  will  be  no 
voice  to  say  '  mother,'  no  daughter  to  pray  for  ;  the 
books  in  my  little  library  will  be  unread,  and  my 
harp  will  be  silent.  This  must  not  be.  You  must 
have  another  daughter  to  take  my  place.  I  love 
Alice  as  a  sister.  You  love  her.  Will  you  not  let 
her  be  your  child  ?  and  I  will  be  her  sister  in 
heaven,  and  watch  over  you  both.  Shall  it  not  be 
so,  mother  ?  Alice  has  no  mother,  and  you  will 
have  no  child.  Will  you  not  take  her,  mother,  for 
the  sake  of  your  lost  Lily  ?  "  Then,  joining  their 
hands,  and  looking  at  them  fondly,  "  That  is  right," 
she  said;  "you  will  not  love  me  the  less  for  loving 
Alice  ;  and,  when  she  plays  upon  my  harp,  you  will 
think  of  me  and  the  golden  harps  of  the  angels." 
Alice  wept:  she  who  had  been  so  long  motherless 
realized  all  the  fond  blessing  of  such  a  love. 


124  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  to  die,"  continued  Lily.  "  God  is 
my  Father,  and  I  know  he  calls  me  into  his  great 
love.  Bring  my  friends  now,  and  let  me  see  them 
once  more  before  I  go  home.  Lily  gazed  earnestly 
at  the  little  group  gathered  tearfully  around  her 
bed.  For  each  one  she  had  some  token  of  affection, 
—  a  ring  here,  a  book  there,  a  ribbon  or  pressed 
flower  to  another.  With  saddened  faces  they  re 
ceived  them,  and  the  room  was  filled  with  their 
sobs.  "  Don't,  dear  friends,"  said  Lily,  "  you  dis 
tress  me.  When  one  returns  from  a  journey  and 
sees  once  more  home  faces,  does  he  weep  or 
rejoice  ?  I  am  only  going  back  to  my  Father's 
arms :  you  will  see  me  there." 

Lucy  Howard  wept  passionately.  "  No,  no,  Lily ! 
I  shall  never  see  you  again.  I  shall  not  go  to  that 
*  better  land.'  You  are  an  angel,  I  an  evil  spirit. 
God  will  reward  you,  and  punish  me.  He  cannot 
be  *  my  Father.'  I  am  afraid  of  him." 

"  No,  Lucy.  God  is  love  :  he  that  feareth  is  not 
made  perfect  in  love  ;  for  '  perfect  love  casteth  out 
fear.'  His  love  is  above  and  around  you,  as  a  great 
light  in  darkness,  —  you  cannot  stumble  or  fall." 

Lily  lay  back  on  her  pillow  exhausted ;  and  one 
by  one  the  girls  left  the  room  sadly  and  tearfully. 
"  Heaven  is  full  of  angels,"  said  Ellen  Lee  :  "  could 
they  not  have  left  us  this  one  ?  " 

Lily's  eyes  were  closed.  "  Her  life  will  pass  with 
the  hour,"  said  the  doctor. 


Who  that  has  watched  a  dear  one  passing  down 
the  shadowed  valley,  does  not  remember  the  hope 
less  feeling  which  filled  the  heart  after  the  great 
struggle  for  resignation  was  passed ;  and  the  weary 
calm  which  came  when  Hope's  ministers  are  fled ; 
the  whisper  of  "  Peace !  "  when  the  human  affection 
says  "there  is  no  peace"? — these  are  the  heaviest 
crosses  of  affliction.  Heavy  indeed  was  the  heart 
of  Mrs.  Gushing.  She  realized  the  fulfilment  of  her 
fear,  that  God  would  some  time  remove  the  idol  she 
had  dared  to  love  better  than  him.  Heavy  indeed 
was  the  heart  of  the  indulgent  father,  who  watched 
the  fading  of  his  great  hope. 

The  sun  was  setting.  The  curtains  had  been 
drawn,  that  Lily's  eyes  might  look  once  more  upon 
the  purple  heavens.  A  faint  flush  tinged  her  cheek, 
—  who  shall  say  it  was  not  a  reflection  of  the  com 
ing  glory  ?  Out  in  the  west  the  sky  glowed  with 
warm,  sun-kissed  clouds ;  and  all  the  light  and  sweet 
ness  and  beauty  seemed  drawn  from  earth  to  illu 
mine  with  celestial  brightness  the  gates  of  eternity. 

Who  shall  wonder  if  to  the  vision  of  departing 
faith  heaven  was  opened,  and  the  ridge  of  bright 
ness  seemed  the  rounds  of  a  golden  ladder,  where 
ministering  spirits  ascended  into  glory  ?  The  dying 
girl  lay  as  if  in  a  glorious  trance ;  and  her  spirit 
seemed  passing  on  the  strain  of  some  heavenly 
melody.  Once  in  a  while  she  murmured,  "Dear 
father !  "  when  Mr.  Gushing  bent  over  her.  The 


THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

sweet  voice  of  Alice  broke  the  stillness,  —  " '  Let 
not  your  heart  be  troubled :  ye  believe  in  God,  be 
lieve  also  in  me.  In  my  Father's  house  are  many 
mansions.  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you.' ': 
"  More !  more  !  "  said  Lily  ;  if  more  of  those  beau 
tiful  words."  "'And  God  shall  wipe  away  all 
tears ;  and  there  shall  be  no  more  pain,  neither  sor 
row  nor  crying  ;  for  the  former  things  are  passed 
away.  Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for 
thou  art  with  me.' ': 

"  O  mother !  I  can  see  it  now,  that  beautiful  coun 
try  ;  it  is  light,  —  all  light.  There  is  no  valley,  and 
no  shadow.  You  used  to  call  me  your  Lily-flower ; 
but  the  lilies  grow  larger  and  fairer  there  :  some  day 
you  will  follow  me  into  this  bright  land,  where  " — . 
The  pale  lips  faintly  uttered,  "  Our  Father ; "  the 
light  went  out  of  the  blue  eyes,  like  the  sunset  flush 
in  the  eye  of  day,  and  Lily  was  in  heaven.  Yes : 
she  had  put  her  hand  in  that  of  the  waiting  angel, 
and  they  had  passed  on  together  under  the  dark 
portal  of  this  life  into  the  gates  of  immortality. 

Alice  remembered  her  words,  —  "I  shall  pass 
directly  in  at  the  portal,"  —  and  turned  her  gaze  to 
the  western  sky.  Amidst  the  fading  crimson,  one 
little  spot  of  blue  was  visible,  —  to  her  it  was  the 
path  made  by  the  ascending  spirits. 

Mrs.  Gushing  sank  upon  her  knees,  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands.  Her  hope  had  faded,  her 


THE   FADED   FLOWER. 


light  had  gone  out,  her  heart  was  desolate.  "  '  My 
God,  my  God  !  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  '  : 
mrst  from  her  in  her  agony.  Urged  by  deep  sym 
pathy,  Alice  knelt  beside  her,  and  throwing  her 
arms  around  her  neck  murmured,  "  Mother."  "  My 
daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Gushing  :  f<  let  us  pray."  And 
over  the  silent  form  went  up  the  supplication  of 
broken-hearted  love,  the  prayer  for  strength  and 
grace,  till  an  inflow  of  divine  love  hallowed  their 
grief,  while  it  knit  still  closer  the  bonds  of  mutual 
affection.  From  that  hour  Alice  felt  she  was  not 
motherless. 

In  a  beautiful  spot  at  Greenwood  they  made  the 
grave  of  Lily.  The  long  branches  of  the  willow 
swept  over  the  stone  which  mourning  love  reared 
above  her  dust,  so  that  in  summer  the  zephyr  sang 
a  soothing  symphony  amid  the  leaves,  and  the  soft 
sunlight  cast  around  the  stone  a  halo  like  a  crown. 
It  bore  the  simple  inscription,  "  Our  Lily,"  with 
a  hand  pointing  upward,  and  the  motto,  Resurrexi, 
—  "  I  have  risen." 

Years  after  this,  when  trial  and  sorrow  had  puri 
fied  and  enlarged  her  life,  Alice  stood  by  this  stone, 
and,  as  she  read  the  motto,  so  full  of  hope,  with  deep 
feeling  repeated  the  sweet  words  of  Ellen  Lee  :  — 

"  Like  a  soft  and  tender  vision, 

Like  a  picture  old  and  rare, 
Seems  this  thought,  this  dream  elysian, 
Of  a  maiden  young  and  fair. 


128  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

'Tis  a  sad  and  simple  story,  — 
Where  the  sunset's  gold  was  poured, 

She  ascended  through  the  glory 
With  the  angel  of  the  Lord. 

So  sometimes  I  dream  at  even, — 
If  our  lives  are  good  and  true, 

We  may  one  day  go  to  heaven 
With  the  waiting  angels  too. 

We  may  join  the  holy  harping ; 

We  may  lie  upon  His  breast, 
4  Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 

And  the  weary  are  at  rest.  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

UNHAPPINESS. 

AN  unsensitive  nature  is  seldom  aroused,  except  it 
be  on  the  occasion  of  strong  passion  or  emotion. 
This  was  the  case  with  Ada  Whiting.  Lily's  sick 
ness  had  affected  her  very  little.  She  was  sure  she 
would  get  well,  she  said,  —  "  there  was  no  need  of 
worrying."  Sometimes  her  companions  would  reply, 
— "  But  suppose  that  Lily  should  die,  would  you 
not  feel  sorry  for  talking  so  ?  " 

"  Nonsense  !  Lily's  health  is  as  good  as  mine,  usu 
ally.  What  is  the  use  of  fretting  ?  " 

And  so  Ada  resigned  herself  to  her  own  pleasures, 
heedless  of  the  sacred  obligations  of  friendly  love. 
But  it  is  well  known,  that,  when  these  persons  are 
surprised  by  an  unhappy  event,  they  are  deeply 
afflicted.  No  one  suffers  so  much  as  they ;  and  they 
overlay  the  grief  of  others  with  their  own  lamenta 
tions.  So  it  was  with  Ada:  she  was  completely 
overwhelmed.  She  cried  herself  almost  sick  over 
the  loss  of  her  friend,  and  suddenly  became  aware 
of  her  lost  companion's  worth  and  many  virtues. 

In  one  of  these  moods  Alice  surprised  her,  as  she 
was  sitting  in  their  room  one  morning.  Her  book 
was  spread  open  on  her  lap ;  but  her  head  was 

bowed  upon  it,  and  the  tears  trickled  through  her 
6* 


130  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

fingers.  She  did  not  hear  any  one  approach,  and  for 
a  few  moments  Alice  stood  regarding  her  in  silence. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Cousin  Ada  ?  " 

Ada  raised  her  head,  but  quickly  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands  again. 

Alice  stood  a  moment,  her  mind  divided  between 
pity  and  vexation.  She,  with  her  strong  mind, 
could  have  little  sympathy  with  her  cousin's  fre 
quent  crying  spells,  but  she  pitied  her  most  sin 
cerely.  "  I  wonder  what  can  be  the  matter  now  !  " 
thought  she. 

"  Are  you  sick,  Ada  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  sick,  —  heart-sick,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What  book  have  you  there,  cousin  ?  " 

Ada  condescended  to  wipe  her  eyes,  and,  taking 
up  the  book,  read  off  the  title, — 

"  '  The  Lone  Heart ;  a  Tale  of  Love  and  Disap 
pointment.'  And  it's  such  a  good  book,"  she  con 
tinued,  "  so  affecting  ;  and  it  made  me  think  so  much 
of  my  owji  troubles.  Nobody  knows  how  many  un 
happy  hours  I  have." 

Just  the  slightest  curve  of  contempt  wreathed 
Alice's  firm  lips.  She  did  not  know  whether  she 
ought  to  talk  to  her  cousin,  or  leave  her  to  cry  over 
her  imaginary  woes.  Seating  herself,  she  said,  — 

"I  consider  it  my  duty  to  talk  with  you,  Cousm 
Ada." 

"  That  everlasting  word,  —  duty.  You  talk  to  me 
as  if  you  were  doing  penance." 


TJNHAPPINESS.  131 

uNo,  Cousin  Ada:  you  do  me  -wrong.  I  will 
sympathize  with  you  in  any  real  trouble,  and 
join  you  in  any  plan  for  our  improvement.  Any 
one  can  work  himself  into  a  morbid  heartache  who 
will  read  sentimental  novels  by  the  hour.  Why, 
Ada,  I  have  known  girls  who  read  novels  so  much 
they  believed  all  sorts  of  foolish  things.  I  have 
heard  of  one  young  girl  who  imagined  she  was  -not 
her  parents'  child,  but  that  they  stole  her  in  infancy 
from  her  father,  who  was  a  great  lord.  And  so  she 
treated  her  poor  father  and  mother  as  if  they  were 
her  tyrants  and  enemies.'^ 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  so  very  wonderful,"  said 
Ada.  "  It  wouldn't  take  much  for  me  to  imagine 
my  father  and  mother  were  my  enemies.  I'm  sure 
they  never  loved  me  any." 

"O  Ada!  Ada!  don't,  pray  don't.  One  of 
these  days  you  will  repent  so  bitterly  saying  these 
words.  When  your  father  and  mother  lie  where 
mine  do,  you  will  wish  every  word  you  uttered  had 
been  a  blessing.  I'm  sure,  Ada,  your  mother  is 
proud  of  you,  and  Uncle  William  loves  you." 

"  Not  half  as  much  as  he  does  you,  Alice ;  and 
I'm  sure  you  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  when  you  said 
mother  was  proud  of  me.  She  never  loved  me  one 
bit.  The  first  thing  I  can  remember  is  being 
dressed  up  like  a  great  doll,  so  that  people  might 
admire  my  bfeck  curls,  and  say,  'She  is  a  little 
beauty,  Mrs.  Whiting,  —  looks  just  like  her  mother.' 


132  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

I  was  brought  up  in  that  school.  Is  it  any  wonder 
that  I  am  proud  and  selfish  now  ?  " 

Alice  said  nothing,  for  she  felt  the  truth  of  this  ; 
and  Ada  continued,  —  "I  think  sometimes,  Alice, 
for  all  I  am  so  vain  and  foolish,  I  love  Miss  Newton, 
I  love  you.  I  think  it  is  better  to  be  simple  and 
loving ;  but  I  wouldn't  change  places.  You  will 
walk  in  the  quiet  paths  of  life.  I  must  have  stir, 
excitement;  I  want  admiration.  One  day,  Lizzie 
and  I  will  have  establishments  of  our  own :  then  I 
will  dance  and  dress !  and,  if  there  are  any  duties  in 
life,  I  will  forget  them.  You  will  pity  me,  and  I 
shall  pity  you.  Any  thing  is  better  than  to  be  old- 
maidish,  —  a  poke." 

"  May  God  bless  you,  my  dear  cousin !  "  said 
Alice  solemnly ;  "  and  may  no  deeper  disgrace  ever 
attach  itself  to  you  than  that  of  a  single  life !  I  am 
content  to  take  life  as  God  sends  it.  If  it  be  mar 
riage,  with  its  trials  and  duties,  I  will  not  be  so 
cowardly  as  to  shrink  back.  If  it  be  a  single  life,  I 
know  that  there  is  work  in  the  highways  as  well  as 
in  the  vallies.  I  am  not  afraid  to  be  an  old  maid." 

Very  sad  at  heart,  Alice  went  back  to  her  books. 
Ada  watched  her  till  the  last  flutter  of  her  dress  dis 
appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  then,  burying  her  face 
in  her  hands  again,  thought  more  seriously  than  she 
was  wont.'  The  verbs  in  Alice's  Latin  Grammar 
lost  their  hard  sameness,  and  instead  she  seemed  to 
oee  sweet  words  of  counsel  and  courage,  and  hear 


UNHAPPINESS.  133 

Voices  long  ago  hushed.  "  O  Father  !  "  she  mur 
mured,  "I  thank  thee  that  I  had  wise  and  good 
parents." 

And  what. thought  Ada  ? 

tf  My  mother  never  loved  me  as  Alice's  mother 
loved  her, — never  kissed  me,  never  taught  me 
any  prayers  !  O  mother  !  perhaps  I  should  not  be 
so  selfish  if  you  had  loved  me." 

Ada  Whiting  had  true  cause  for  unhappiness, —  a 
cause  which  she  did  not  reveal  to  her  cousin.  She 
had  pledged  herself  to  do  a  deed  unworthy  of  her, 
and  she  already  more  than  repented.  Evelina  Cobb 
had  never  lost  her  influence  over  Ada,  although  her 
shallowness  and  vanity  had  somewhat  weakened  it. 
Ada  liked  her  bold  recklessness,  her  freedom  from 
all  religious  restraints,  and  her  flattering  words. 
Evelina  had  never  forgiven  Charles  and  Ellen  Lee 
for  the  mortification  they  had  caused  her,  and  she 
declared  that  she  would  be  even  with  them.  An 
occasion  was  approaching  which  seemed  to  favor  her 
plans  for  revenge.  The  governor  of  the  state  was 
personally  interested  in  Miss  Newton's  school,  and 
he  had  promised  a  gold  medal  for  the  best  essay  at 
the  close  of  the  coming  term.  There  was  much 
rivalry  in  the  school.  Ellen  Lee  had  always  been 
called  the  best  writer ;  but  now  Ada  had  made  every 
effort  to  outdo  her.  Never  did  rivals  at  the  Olym 
pian  games  strive  with  more  eager  zeal.  Groups  of 
girls  would  assemble  at  recess  to  talk  over  the  pros- 


134  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVB. 

pects  of  the  competitors.  Ellen  Lee's  was  a  poetical 
essay,  evincing  great  talent ;  and  the  pupils  already 
looked  upon  her  as  the  victor.  This  was  very  gall 
ing  to  Ada's  pride. 

All  the  worst  traits  of  her  passionate  nature  were 
aroused  at  the  prospect  of  failure,  and  flowed  out  in 
bitter  feelings  towards  her  rival.  If  ever  any  one 
needed  a  true  friend,  Ada  needed  one  now;  but, 
alas !  she  fell  into  the  hands  of  an  enemy. 

Evelina  had  read  novels  enough  to  know  how  to 
plot,  and  she  could  coax  and  flatter  enough  to  ob 
tain  the  instruments  she  needed.  Her  plan  was 
this  :  She  would  obtain  Ellen's  essay  the  night  be 
fore  the  exhibition,  hide  it  where  it  would  not  come 
to  light  until  after  that  occasion,  and  then  seem  like 
a  pure  accident,  which  no  one  could  account  for. 
Thus  she  would  deprive  Ellen  of  a  triumph  and  a 
prize,  while  at  the  same  time  she  would  be  revenging 
herself  on  both  brother  and  sister.  But  it  would  never 
do  for  her  to  put  this  plot  into  execution  herself. 

Let  us  see  how  the  monkey  used  the  cat's  paw  to 
pull  his  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire.  "  You  darling 
girl,"  said  Evelina,  as  she  met  Ada  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs ;  "  I've  been  dying  to  see  you  :  come  into 
the  recitation-room,  —  I  have  fixed  it  splendidly," 
said  she,  as  she  drew  Ada  to  a  seat.  "  You  see  Miss 
Newton  gave  Bridget  the  key  to  the  schoolroom  this 
morning,  in  order  that  she  might  do  the  cleaning. 
Thinks  I  to  myself,  here's  a  chance :  so  after  school 


UNHAPPINESS.  135 

I  just  went  down  to  the  kitchen,  and  made  a  bargain 
with  Bridget  to  let  me  have  the  key  this  evening. 
She  was  willing  enough  to  do  it  for  an  old  ribbon  I 
gave  her.  Her  brain  is  so  dull  she  never  will  sus 
pect  me,  even  if  questioned.  Ellen's  portfolio  is  in 
her  desk,  —  I  saw  her  put  it  there  at  the  close  of  the 
session.  So  you  see  it  is  all  arranged,  and  nicely 
too.  Come,  why  don't  you  say  what  you  think  of 
it?"  she  continued,  as  Ada  sat  silent  and  moody. 

'f  I  believe  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  it," 
said  Ada :  "  it  is  too  mean  even  for  me." 

"  Give  it  up  !  "  cried  Evelina,  "  after  I've  had  all 
this  trouble  for  you  ?  And  so  you're  willing  to  slave  a 
month  over  an  essay,  and  then  let  the  favorite  take 
the  prize !  I  wouldn't  have  taken  so  much  trou 
ble  for  you,  if  I  had  known  you  would  give  it  up  so 
meanly ! " 

"Who  is  the  most  accommodated,  I  wonder?" 
retorted  Ada.  "  But  the  truth  is,  it  does  look  be 
neath  one  to  be  creeping  into  the  schoolroom  at 
night,  like  a  thief,  —  yes,  a  thief  in  reality.  I  be 
lieve  I  had  rather  lose  the  prize." 

"Oh!  well,"  said  Evelina  coolly,  "you  can  go 
without  it,  I  suppose.  Nobody  will  cry  if  you  don't 
get  it.  But  how  cheap  Ada  Whiting  will  feel !  " 

Ada's  eyes  flashed.  The  old  jealousy  was  alive 
again.  "  Any  thing  is  better  than  failure,"  thought 
she,  —  "I  can  bear  any  thing  better  than  that.  Be 
sides,"  reasoned  the  tempter,  "  nobody  will  know  it. 


136 


THE    SHEAVES   OF   LOVE. 


"What  is  a  moment's  danger  to  the  triumph  of  suc 
cess  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  it/'  replied  she.  "  What  is  the  use  of 
living  if  you  can't  have  what  you  want  ?  " 

"And  I  may  depend  upon  you?"  said  Evelina 
inquiringly. 

ci  Yes :  bring  the  key  to  your  room  at  nine  o'clock  ; 
and,  when  the  house  is  still,  I  will  go  with  you." 

"  You  are  a  dear  good  girl,"  said  Evelina  purr- 
ingly.  "  How  mad  Ellen  Lee's  friends  will  be  ! 
But  they  never  will  suspect  in  the  world." 

"Yes,"  said  she,  when  Ada  had  left  the  room. 
"  One  good  turn  deserves  another.  That  picture  on 
the  wall  won't  look  so  hateful  after  this." 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

"LKAD  us  NOT  INTO  TEMPTATION." 

As  the  bell  rang  for  the  girls  to  retire,  Evelina 
entered  her  chamber  with  Ada.  A  half  hour 
passed  in  conversation,  during  which  time  the  noise 
in  the  house  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and  finally 
ceased  altogether.  A  hush,  most  of  all  impressive 
when  it  holds  the  thought  of  sleep,  settled  over 
them  like  a  benediction,  as  they  sat  there  silent  and 
motionless.  Ada  was  not  naturally  superstitious : 
but,  with  the  sense  of  guilt  on  her  mind,  the  silence 
seemed  filled  with  mocking  voices,  and  the  darkness 
took  strange  shapes ;  while  all  the  old  goblin  tales 
she  had  ever  read  seemed  to  haunt  her  imagination. 
Alas !  she  had  not  that  pure  heart  which  sees  God, 
nor  the  pure  lips  to  pray,  "  Deliver  us  from  evil." 

"  Do  you  think  every  thing  is  perfectly  safe  ?  " 
ventured  she,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Evelina ;'" there  is  no  danger  if 
you  are  very  careful.  You  had  better  take  off  your 
shoes  when  you  go.  We  shall  have  good  luck,  for 
I  saw  the  moon  over  my  right  shoulder  to-night. 
"What  ails  you  ?  "  said  she,  as  she  felt  Ada  shudder. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  her  companion.  "  Isn't  it  a 
little  cold  ?  I  wish  we  had  left  the  lamp  burning. 
I  feel  a  little  faint." 


138  THE    SFIEAVKS    OF    LOVE. 

"  You  will  get  over  it  in  a  minute,"  said  Evelina. 
"  We  mustn't  light  the  lamp,"  for  we  should  cer 
tainly  be  discovered.  I've  got  some  lucifer  matches 
in  my  pocket,  and  you  can  light  the  gas  when  you 
get  down  stairs.  Come,"  said  she,  pulling  Ada's 
hand,  "  I  guess  it's  safe  now." 

But  Ada  drew  it  back.  "  I  wish  you  would  go 
yourself,  Evelina.  I  don't  care  for  the  prize  so 
much  as  to  do  this,  —  go  yourself." 

"  Impossible,"  returned  Evelina,  putting  the  key 
into  her  hand.  "  I  should  be  suspected  immediately. 
Come,  you  will  feel  better  in  a  minute ; "  and  she 
pushed  Ada  before  her  into  the  entry.  The  sleep 
ing-rooms  were  situated  opposite  each  other,  only 
divided  by  a  long  entry  or  passage-way.  The  doors 
were  mostly  ajar ;  but  there  were  no  lights,  nor  any 
signs  of  wakeful  life.  They  stole  softly  along  the 
passage,  feeling  their  way  by  the  wall,  when  sud 
denly  Ada  whispered,  — 

"What's  that?" 

The  two  girls  stood  holding  their  breath,  while 
from  one  of  the  rooms  stole  a  softened  murmur,  a 
prayerful  voice,  which  Ada  knew  to  be  Alice's. 
For  worlds  she  could  not  have  moved.  She  felt  like 
the  criminal  compelled  to  hear  his  own  death-war 
rant,  while  every  word  fell  distinctly  on  her  ear,  - 
"  *  And  forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  those 
who  trespass  against  us.  And  lead  us  not  into 
temptation,  but  deliver  us  from  evil.' " 


"  LEAD  US  NOT  INTO  TEMPTATION.  '      139 

"  Deliver  us  from  evil,  —  deliver  us  from  evil," 
—  how  the  words  echoed  and  re-echoed  in  her  ears ! 
She  said  them  over  and  over  again  with  white  lips 
that  made  no  sound;  she  Qlung  to  them  as  the 
drowning  man  clutches  at  a  straw,  with  a  blind 
sense  of  safety  and  hope  in  their  spell.  Then  came 
the  dark  thought,  — ' '  "What  right  have  I  to  take  the 
name  of  the  Lord  upon  my  lips  ?  I,  clothed  in  the 
livery  of  sin,  to  be  talking  the  language  of  heaven  ?  " 
They  would  do  for  Alice,  and  for  the  sinless  lips  of 
Jittle  children  ;  but  such  words  were  \nockery  for  her. 
In  an  instant  of  time  she  seemed  to  live  ages  of 
thought.  "  What  would  Alice  think  of  this  ?  what 
would  Lily  think?  Perhaps  she  was  even  then 
looking  at  her.  Perhaps  God  had  sent  her  to  be  a 
witness  of  her  sin."  The  thought  worked  upon 
her  feverish,  excited  mind.  She  almost  fancied  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  white  garments,  and  a  super 
natural  dread  filled  her  with  shrinking  terror. 

"  Come,  Ada,"  whispered  Evelina,  "  it  is  no 
thing."  But  Ada  stirred  not  a  step,  nor  uttered  a 
word.  "  Come,"  said  Evelina,  shaking  her,  "  what 
is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  Lead  us  not  into  temptation  !  "  whispered  Ada 
softly.  "  Did  you  hear  her  say  it  ?  Lily  said  it !  " 

Evelina  was  frightened.  She  shook  her  com 
panion  rudely.  "  Are  you  crazy  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  am  !  —  I  wish  I  were  '  "  said 
Ada.  "  I  wish  we  had  a  light !  " 


140  THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

They  moved  on  again  softly,  stopping  now  and 
then  to  listen.  Oh!  the  still,  calm,  holy  night  — 
how  eloquent  its  stillness !  how  fearful  its  calm 
ness  !  how  voiceful  its  holiness  !  How  it  searches 
out  our  weaknesses !  —  how  its  brooding  darkness 
seems  to  separate  us  from  the  outward  world,  and 
leave  us  alone  with  God ! 

With  cat-like  tread  they  descended  the  stairs  ; 
the  great  clock  in  the  hall  seemed  sounding  an 
alarm,  and  its  "Tick-tick-tick-tick"  said  in  Ada's 
ears,  "Thief-thief-thief-thief,"  till  it  almost  mad-v 
dened  her.  She  stopped  her  ears,  but  only  to  hear 
another  voice  say,  "  Lead  us  not  into  temptation ! " 

"  What  a  fool  I  am !  "  thought  she.  "  I  will  go 
on  now.  What  does  that  clock  mean,  I  wonder  ? 
I'll  beat  it  to  pieces  if  it  don't  stop." 

They  reached  the  door  of  the  school-room.  Ada's 
hand  was  upon  the  knob,  when,  as  she  afterwards 
declared,  a  voice  like  a  shout  cried,  "  Lead  us  not 
into  temptation."  She  turned  and  fled  up  the  stair 
way  with  mad  haste,  and  stopped  not  till  she  had 
thrown  herself  into  her  cousin's  room,  weeping  and 
sobbing  hysterically.  It  was  a  long  time  before  she 
could  answer  Alice's  eager  questions. 

"  O  Cousin  Alice  !  you  will  despise  me  ;  but  you 
can't  hate  me  as  I  hate  myself."  And  then  she  told 
the  story  of  her  temptation.  "  It  was  dreadful,  Alice, 
sinful  too ;  and,  oh !  so  mean,  —  that  cuts  me  worst 
of  all !  How  can  I  ever  hold  my  head  up  again  ?  " 


"LEAD    US   NOT   INTO   TEMPTATION."  141 

"  Heaven  be  praised  !  "  exclaimed  Alice. 

"  Praised  for  what  ?  —  that  I  have  lowered  and 
degraded  myself?  " 

"  No !  —  that  you  were  saved  from  the  evil,  A  la. 
What  if  you  never  could  have  held  your  head  up  in 
the  presence  of  honor  ?  I  love  you  more  this 
minute  than  I  ever  did  before." 

Ada  sat  thoughtful.     "  I  wish  I  were  like  you, 

.Alice.      Do   you  remember  what  father  said  one 

night  ?      '  Alice,'    said    he,    '  will   make  the  world 

better  for  her  having  lived  in  it.'     I  have  thought 

of  that  so  much  !  " 

"  Don't  think  of  it  any  more  then,"  responded 
Alice,  throwing  her  arms  affectionately  around  her 
cousin.  "  Measure  your  strength,  not  by  the  past, 
but  by  faith  in  the  future.  If  your  record-book 
bears  the  word  '  unfaithful,'  let  the  white  leaves 
say,  'Well  done!  good  and  faithful  servant.' ': 

"  But  then  I  am  so  impulsive,  Alice,  and  all  my 
impulses  are  wrong  ones.  You  see  I  know  what  is 
right ;  but  it  is  easier  to  do  wrong.  How  can  I 
help  it  ?  1  wasn't  made  like  you.  If  I  had  beeri 
made  right,  there  would  have  been  no  trouble." 

"  That  is  not  only  sinful,  but  unphilosophical," 
replied  Alice.  "  Because  you  have  not  developed 
your  spiritual  nature,  you  lay  the  lack  of  its  gifts 
and  graces  at  the  door  of  Providence,  while  all 
around  you  are  the  means  of  culture.  It  is  the  blind 
eye  only  that  looks  downward  upon  Destiny  and 


142  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

• 

Fate,  while  above  there  are  the  sunny  hills  of 
Endeavor." 

Ada  sighed.  "You  have  commenced  climbing 
those  hills,  Alice ;  but  I  am  still  in  the  valley 
of  Indolence.  It  is  an  enchanted  place,  and  I 
have  no  thread  to  guide  me  out  of  it.  What  shall 
I  do?" 

"  Open  your  eyes,  Ada  !  Don't  you  see  the 
thread  ?  There  are  two  threads  in  your  enchanted 
valley,  running  in  opposite  directions.  One  is  the 
golden  thread  of  Pleasure  ;  and  it  shines  so  brightly 
you  can  scarce  see  the  sombre  little  thread  of  Duty. 
The  thread  of  Pleasure  winds  among  the  low  valleys 
of  ease  ;  and,  if  you  follow  it,  it  will  lead  you  to  the 
dark  river  of  Misery,  and  invite  you  to  drown 
Memory  among  the  waves  of  Forgetfulness.  The 
other,  the  thread  of  Duty,  winds  along  the  dusty 
highways  of  Labor,  and  wounds  your  feet  by  pass 
ing  over  the  rocks  of  Temptation ;  but  it  leads  y^a 
up  the  Mountain  of  Aspiration,  and  shows  you  the 
sunny  slope  of  perfect  Faith,  whence  you  may  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  glory  beyond.  Which  will  you 
choose  ?  " 

Ada  looked  her  admiration !  The  soul  of  Alice 
seemed  stirred  with  a  hope  new  to  her,  —  a  hope 
that  her  dear  cousin  would  seek  to  find  "  that  better 
part  "  which  should  not  be  taken  away  from  her. 

"  I  ought  to  choose  Duty,"  said  Ada  ;  "  but  I  love 
Pleasure  better.  To  follow  Duty,  one  must  be  re- 


"  LEAD    US    NOT   INTO   TEMPTATION."  143 

ligious,  and  religion  makes  people  gloomy.  I  can 
not  give  up  the  world  yet !  " 

"  I  would  not  have  you,"  returned  Alice.  "  Only 
make  yourself  worthy  to  help  the  world.  It  is  no 
heroism  to  run  away  from  temptation." 

"  But  you  did  not  understand  me,  Cousin  Alice. 
I  mean  that  I  cannot  give  up  the  vanities  of  the 
world.  "What  shall  I  do  when  I  go  into  society  ?  I 
want  to  make  a  sensation,  —  a  triumph !  " 

"  I  did  understand  you  too  well,  Cousin  Ada.  I 
Will  tell  you  what  to  do.  Take  fast  hold  of  the  little 
thread  of  Duty,  and,  as  you  mingle  in  these  brilliant 
scenes,  show  the  butterflies  of  Fashion  how  a  true  soul 
can  live  above  their  glitter.  Carry  the  torch  of  Truth 
among  the  dry  chaff,  and  let  it  do  its  work.  You  have 
a'  most  glorious  field  for  labor,  —  a  true  missionary 
work,  —  if  you  would  but  do  it.  What  will  you  say 
when  you  give  in  an  account  of  your  stewardship  ?  " 

Alice's  face  glowed  with  impassioned  fervor.  It 
was  fairly  radiant  with  soul. 

"  You  are  an  angel,  Alice,"  said  Ada ;  "  but  be 
tween  you  and  me  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed.  I 
cannot  see  life  as  you  see  it.  No  one  ever  taught 
me.  My  heart  is  heavy,  and  my  brain  is  whirling. 
Pity  me,  Alice,  for  I  am  very  weak ;  and  I  cannot 
think  to-night.  Do  you  believe  I  could  be  good, 
Alice,  if  I  should  try  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  not  by  your  own  strength,  Ada.  Pray 
that  our  Father  will  help  you." 


144  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"  I  don't  know  how,  Alice.  I  never  said  a  prayer 
in  my  life." 

"  My  poor  cousin !  " 

"  It  is  strictly  true,"  said  Ada.  "  I  never  remem 
ber  hearing  one  in  our  house.  I  don't  believe  a 
prayer  is  said  there  from  one  year's  end  to  another." 

"  If  that  is  true  now,"  said  Alice,  "  don't  let  it  be 
hereafter.  Promise  me  that  you  will  think  of  these 
things,  Ada." 

"  I  will  see,  Alice,  —  yes,  I  think  I  will  try. 
For  all  you  have  no  such  splendid  prospects  in  life, 
you  are  richer  and  happier." 

Alice  thought  she  would  not  have  exchanged  tier 
"  splendid  prospects "  for  those  of  any  queen  or 
princess. 

Ada's  sleep  was  broken  and  uneasy  that  night ; 
and  more  than  once  Alice  was  awakened  by  hearing 
her  say,  "  I  will  try,  —  yes,  I  think  I  will  try." 

For  herself,  she  rejoiced  that  this  event  had  re 
vealed  Evelina  in  her  true  colors;  and  she  hoped 
that  now  she  might  win  her  cousin  to  the  society  of 
truer  friends. 

The  next  morning  revealed  all.  Evelina,  rather 
than  be  cheated  of  her  revenge,  took  the  essay  her 
self.  Of  course  she  denied  all  knowledge  of  it,  not 
dreaming  that  Ada  would  say  any  thing  of  a  matter 
which  would  criminate  herself.  But  she,  with  her 
late  remorse  weighing  heavily  upon  her  mind,  sought 
a  private  interview  with  Miss  Newton,  and  told  her 


"LEAD  us  NOT  INTO  TEMPTATION."        145 

all.  She  wept  over  her  ungenerous  conduct,  and 
told  Miss  Newton  of  Alice's  good  counsels.  Miss 
Newton  herself  wept  at  the  recital. 

"  You  cannot  do  better,"  said  she,  "  than  to 
regard  this  advice.  A  character  like  her's  is  beyond 
all  price.  As  for  Evelina,  I  think  her  influence  is 
an  evil  one.  I  cannot  have  her  longer  under  my 
care." 

"  Isn't  it  scandalous,  girls  ? "  said  Jane  Swift. 
"Who  would  have  thought  it  of  Ada  "Whiting? 
But  it  all  comes  of  that  prying  Alice  Morton." 

Edward  Hall  heard  the  recital  from  the  admiring 
lips  of  one  of  Alice's  school-friends,  who  could  not 
say  enough  in  praise  of  her. 

"  This  Miss  Morton,"  said  he,  "  is  a  noble  girl. 
I  believe  I  must  know  her  better." 

"Yes,"  said  the  judge,  "  I  wish  you  would." 


CHAPTER  XVHI. 

CHRISTMAS     HOLIDAYS    AT    HOME. 

"  WELL,  little  Miss  Sobriety  ! "  said  Mr.  Whiting, 
"  does  it  seem  good  to  be  at  home  again  ?  " 

'"  Yes  indeed,  uncle !  "  and  Alice's  eyes  seconded 
the  answer.  "  But  why  do  you  call  me  little  ?  " 

"  Oh !  because  I  want  you  to  be  just  as  you  were 
when  I  used  to  hold  you  on  my  knee  and  kiss  you, 
as  I  am  going  to  do  now,"  —  and  he  imprinted  a 
hearty  kiss  upon  her  forehead. 

"  Why,  William,  how  can  you  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Whiting.  "  Think  of  my  poor  nerves !  Ada,  will 
you  stop  drumming  that  piano  ?  Goodness  !  it  is  a 
wonder  how  I  ever  live  through  so  much." 

It  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  the  family  were  all 
assembled  once  more  in  the  drawing-room.  The 
coal  in  the  grate  glowed  as  cheerfully,  and  the  crim 
son  curtains  threw  their  shadows  as  warmly,  as  when 
we  first  saw  Alice,  on  that  rainy  November  evening, 
when  Mr.  Whiting  granted  her  wishes.  Fred  sat 
very  quietly  on  the  sofa,  which  Alice  thought  was 
strange  for  him ;  and  she  wondered  if  the  discipline 
of  hard  study  had  in  any  way  curbed  his  mischiev 
ous  impulses. 

"Well,  Frederick,"  said  his  father,  "what  are 


CHRISTMAS    HOLIDAYS    AT    HOME.  147 

you  thinking  of?  You  have  done  well  to  keep  your 
peace  for  five  minutes." 

"  Oh !  I  can  be  peaceable  when  I  choose,"  said 
Fred,  laughing ;  "  but  just  now  my  thoughts  were 
occupied  by  a  very  interesting  subject." 

"  What,  pray,  did  you  ever  think  of  for  five  mi 
nutes  at  a  time  ?  "  said  Lizzie. 

"  Most  gracious  sister,"  said  Fred,  "  did  time  per 
mit,  I  would  enter  into  an  abstruse  and  metaphysical 
analysis  of  my  reasoning  faculties,  to  convince  you 
that  I  am  capable  of  such  an  effort.  To  speak 
plainly,  I  am  thinking  of  Alice.  Don't  you  think 
she  has  grown  handsome  ?  " 

Alice  blushed. 

"  If  I  had  a  spy-glass,  perhaps  I  could  see  it,"  re 
plied  Lizzie,  tossing  her  head;  "but  I  must  say, 
No." 

"  Come,  Lizzie,  can't  you  be  generous  for  once  ?  " 
said  Mr.  "Whiting.  "  For  my  part,  I  think  Alice's 
bright  cheeks  would  shame  the  lily  faces  of  our  city 
girls.  I  think  the  country  air  has  made  her  quite 
beautiful." 

"  And  so  do  I,"  said  Fred. 

"And  I,"  said  Ada. 

If  Alice's  cheeks  were  bright  before,  they  were 
now  like  a  damask  rose. 

"  How  ridiculous  ! "  said  Lizzie ;  and  the  mother 
echoed,  "  How  ridiculous  !  " 

"  You'll  have   to  be   careful,   Lizzie,"  said  her 


148          '  THE,    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

brother  wickedly,  exchanging  a  glance  with  Ada, 
"  or  Alice  will  steal  all  your  admirers.  Come  now, 
cousin,  own  up !  How  many  hearts  have  you  con 
quered  with  those  brown  eyes  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  yet  conquered  my  own,  Cousin 
Fred. 

"But  some  one  has  conquered  it  for  you,  I 
suppose,  and  so  saved  you  the  trouble.  Really, 
Cousin  Alice,  I  am  proud  of  you.  Did  you  ever 
see  a  magnet,  Lizzie  ?  What  if  Louis " 

"  Stop,  Frederick  Whiting  !     Can  you  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  might,  my  angelic  sistej,  if  you  were 
to  request  me  politely,"  replied  the  provoking 
brother. 

"  Dear  cousin,"  said  Alice,  pleadingly  laying  her 
hand  upon  his  arm,  "  wont  you  stop  for  my  sake  ? 
You  make  me  very  unhappy,"  —  and  her  tearful 
eyes  witnessed  to  her  truth. 

"  My  divine  little  Queen  of  Hearts,  command  me  ; 
for  my  own  heart  went  long  ago,"  —  and  Fred  made 
a  low  obeisance. 

"  It  seems  that  you  have  mastered  the  verb  '  to 
love '  since  you  have  been  at  college,"  said  Lizzie 
scornfully. 

"  And  so  have  you,"  said  Fred.  "  Be  careful, 
Lizzie,  of  foreign  noblemen." 

Lizzie  opened  her  great  eyes  half  in  surprise  and 
half  in  anger. 

"  You  don't  know  any  thing  about  my  friends." 


CHRISTMAS    HOLIDAYS    AT    HOME.  149 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  said  Fred,  with  a  roguish  twinkle  of 
his  eye.  "  Most  adorable  angel,"  said  he,  drop 
ping  on  one  knee,  and  imitating  the  exact  tone  of 
Louis  Melville,  "  let-ah  the  light-ah  of  your  beau 
tiful  eyes  rest-ah  upon  me.  My  life-ah  is  in  your 
divine-ah  presence." 

Lizzie's  eyes  flashed  angrily. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  ?  And  so  you  were  eaves 
dropping,  were  you  ?  Learned  that  at  college,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

The  scene  was  comic,  and  a  smile  passed  through 
the  group. 

"  Come,  come,  children,"  said  Mr.  Whiting,  "  do 
your  lovemaking  as  you  please,  but  let  us  be  plea 
sant  to-night.  Wife,  shall  we  have  some  music  ?  " 

"I  don't  care,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Whiting. 
"  One  might  as  well  be  bored  in  one  way  as  another. 
Lizzie,  play  your  father  that  new  Italian  air." 

"  No,  no ;  give  me  something  that  has  soul  in  it. 
Ada,  will  you  play  *  Sweet  Home,'  and  let  Alice 
sing  the  words  ?  " 

Alice  sang  it  with  expression.  Her  voice,  soft 
and  sweet,  seemed  more  tender,  as  if  Memory  had 
melted  her  tears  into  the  strain. 

"  That's  very  sweet,"  said  Fred. 

"  Humdrum,"  said  Lizzie. 

The  tears  rained  over  Alice's  face  :  she  could  not 
help  it.  The  beloved  tune  had  been  an  "  open 
sesame "  for  many  buried  delights.  It  seemed  so 


150  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

out  of  place,  with  its  sweet  lowliness,  among  those 
proud  spirits  and  gilded  trappings. 

"  "Where  is  home,  Alice  ?  "  said  Mr.  Whiting,  as 
he  stood  leaning  over  her  chair. 

"  Where  the  heart  is,  Uncle  William.  Mine  is 
in  heaven." 

"  I  wish  mine  was,"  said  Mr.  Whiting,  half  un 
consciously. 

"  For  my  part,  I  am  very  well  contented  to  live 
here,"  said  Lizzie. 

"  But  you  may  not  always  be  able  to,  my  daugh 
ter." 

' '  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  father  ?  You  are  not 
going  to  leave  this  house  ?  " 

"  No,  not  at  present,"  said  Mr.  Whiting,  smiling. 
"  I  referred  to  the  uncertainty  of  life." 

"  Oh !  how  you  frightened  me  !  "  said  Lizzie.  "  I 
was  afraid  something  had  happened.  Henrietta 
West's  father  failed  last  week,  and  she's  got  to 
teach.  If  any  such  thing  should  happen  to  us,  I 
should  die.  I  never  could  live  through  Buch  dis 
grace." 

"  Yes  you  would,"  said  Fred.    "  Our  wealth  would 
•  be  gone,  but  our  trials  and  vexations  of  all  kinds 
would  be  left." 

Mr.  Whiting  looked  troubled.  "  How  little  they 
dream,"  thought  he,  "  that  this  splendor  may  be  the 
sunset's  last  glory." 

Alice  remembered  her  old  friends,  John  and  Con- 


CHRISTMAS    HOLIDAYS    AT    HOME.  151 

tent.  She  opened  the  kitchen-door  softly  :  Content 
was  at  the  ironing  table,  her  dusky  face  shining  with 
perspiration  and  good  temper.  She  did  not  perceive 
that  any  one  had  entered  j  and  Alice  stole  softly  up 
behind  her,  and  threw  over  her  head  a  gay  bandanna 
handkerchief. 

"  Lor'  bress  us  !  who  dat  ?  "  and  Content  pulled 
the  trifle  from  her  head,  and  stood  peering  curiously 
at  Alice,  as  if  half  inclined  to  think  her  an  illusion. 
But  her  eyes  rested  delightedly  upon  the  handker 
chief,  and  Alice  feared  that  its  bright  red  stripes 
would  outshine  the  giver. 

"  It's  me,  'Tenty.     Don't  you  remember  Alice  ? 

"  Bress  ye,  honey,  yes  !  Only  ye  looked  so  shinin' 
like,  and  I'se  been  hopin'  for  ye  so  long.  I'se  'fraid 
ye'd  just  melt  away.  De  dear  chile !  how  hand 
some  like  she's  growed,"  she  continued,  surveying 
Alice  with  intense  satisfaction. 

"  Then  you're  glad  to  see  me,  are  you,  'Tenty  ?  " 

"  'Pears  like  I'se  joyful.  This  'ere  'kerchief  is  de 
beautifullest !  'Clare  for't,  joyful  as  Jacob  when  he 
sjeed  Joseph,  as  ye  used  to  tell  for." 

"  Do  you  read  the  Bible  now,  'Tenty  ?  " 

"  Not  much  'count,  honey.  Ole  John,  he  done 
read  some ;  but  he  circumwents  it  so  dis  chile  don't 
know  nothin'  'bout  it." 

"  I  am  glad  you  read  it,  at  any  rate,"  said  Alice. 
"  Now  I'm  at  home  I  will  read  for  you." 

"  Thank  ye.     I  tell  Old  John,  —  <  Alice  she's  an 


158  THE   SHEAVES    OF   LOVE. 

angel  going  straight  to  glory ;  but  Missee  Lizzie  say 
she  would  not  read  for  poor  folks  like  me." 

"Never  mind,  'Tenty;  if  you  are  poor  in  this 
world's  goods,  I  hope  you  are  rich  in  grace." 

"  So  I  tole  'em,"  said  Content,  triumphantly. 

Alice  spent  some  time  with  her  humble  friends. 
When  John  came  home,  she  took  his  well-worn 
Bible,  and  read  sweet  comforting  passages,  while  flhe 
tears  ran  down  the  faces  of  her  auditors.  There  is 
a  spell  in  a  low,  musical  voice  j  and  some  people  have 
a  faculty  of  melting  their  souls  into  their  tones.  Alice 
read  chapter  after  chapter,  feeling  it  a  privilege  to  read 
the  words  of  eternal  life  to  the  poor  and  unlearned. 

"Now,  John,"  said  Alice,  "I  want  to  hear  you 
read,  so  I  can  see  how  much  you  have  improved." 

"  Dis  child  has  made  slow  progress,"  said  John, 
as  he  read,  —  "God  so  loved  the  world  that  he 
gave  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believ- 
eth  on  Him  should  not  perish,  but  have  eternal  life." 

"  Those  are  precious  promises,"  said  Alice,  "  and 
you  read  very  well ;  and  while  1  am  at  home  I  will 
teach  you  every  day." 

"  Thank  ye,  child.  'Pears  like  I  would  have  ye 
stay  always  with  us,  Miss  Alice." 

Very  different  from  this  was  the  scene  in  one  of 
the  upper  rooms  of  this  house  of  luxury. 

"  Ada,"  said  Lizzie,  as  she  stood  before  the  glass, 
"I  want  you  to  advise  me.  You  see  we  are  all  going 
to  Mrs.  Hammersford's  to-inorrow  night,  and  all  the 
world  will  be  there.  Now,  what  shall  I  wear  ?  — 


CHRISTMAS    HOLIDAYS    AT    HOME.  153 

what  color  do  you  think  suits  my  style  of  beauty 
best  ?  Now,  there's  red,"  she  rattled  on, "  but  that's 
too  flashy  !  and  blue,  —  gentlemen  can't  bear  blue ! 
and  purple,  or  violet.  There,  I've  got  it  now, 
—  violet  would  be  just  the  thing;  don't  you  think 
so,  Ada  ?  " 

"  Really,  sister,  I  don't  know ;  suit  yourself. 
The  color  of  a  dress  don't  matter  much  !  " 

"What  an  innocent,  unsophisticated  thing  you 
are !  Don't  matter,  do  you  think  ?  I  tell  you  the 
color  of  a  dress  is  every  thing  ;  you'll  find  it  out 
when  you  go  into  society." 

"  Then  I  am  to  suppose  that  society  is  made  up 
of  dresses,  varying  in  kind  and  quality  according  to 
the  market  valuation  of  the  person  in  them,"  said 
Ada,  half  in  earnest  and  half  in  raillery. 

"  Nonsense,  Ada !  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
You've  come  home  as  moping  and  solemn  and  old- 
maidish  as  you  can  be  !  " 

"  I  believe  I  have  begun  to  think  a  little,  Lizzie." 

"  Begun  to  fiddle-stick !  "  exclaimed  her  sister. 
"  I  tell  you,  you  must  not  think !  It'll  just  spoil 
you  for  society.  But  I  see  that  preaching  Alice 
Morton  has  been  filling  your  head  with  her  pious 
notions.  I  told  mother  how  it  would'be  !  There  is 
nothing  like  a  French  Boarding  School  to  fit  one  for 
society ! "  Lizzie  talked  on,  telling  Ada  of  the 
grand  balls  of  the  season,  and  enlarging  upon  her 
own  success,  until  Ada  caught  a  part  of  her  enthu- 
7* 


154  THE    SHEAVES    Ol'   LOVE. 

siasm.  Alice's  simple  pleasure  seemed  nothing 
compared  to  the  gay  life  of  fashion ;  and,  for  the 
time,  dress,  company,  and  admiration,  seemed  the 
highest  objects  of  earthly  ambition. 

"  Never  fear  for  me,  Lizzie  ;  I  always  said  I  would 
make  a  sensation !  Sometimes,  when  I  talk  with 
Alice,  I  feel  as  if  the  world  was  all  vanity  and  show ; 
but  I  know  I  cannot  live  without  admiration.  Do 
you  think  I  am  handsome,  Lizzie  ?  " 

It  was  a  tender  point  with  Lizzie,  but  then  this 
was  an  emergency,  and  she  answered, "  Yes,  —  very  ! 
There  is  not  one  in  a  hundred  who  would  make 
more  sensation." 

"  Alice  never  told  me  I  was  handsome,  in  her 
life,"  thought  Ada. 

' '  You'll  see  something  of  society  to-morrow 
night,"  continued  Lizzie.  "  Look  here,  Ada,  I  am 
going  to  give  you  this  set  of  pearls  when  you  make 
your  debut.  They'll  just  suit  your  style." 

Ada  gazed,  with  glistening  eyes,  upon  the  beauti 
ful  ornaments.  Her  heart  beat  fast  with  hope  and 
ambition.  In  their  clear  whiteness  the  future 
seemed  painted.  The  festive  scenes  which  should 
witness  her  triumph  seemed  to  look  out  upon  her, 
reflected  from  their  silvery  glow.  The  love  and 
counsels  of  Alice  were  forgotten.  Visions  of  beauty, 
of  music,  of  bewildering  revelry,  came  and  went  be 
fore  her  eyes,  like  fairy  dreamings. 

Alas,   Ada !    you    thought    you    would   "  try." 


CHRISTMAS   HOLIDAYS    AT   HOME.  155 

So  falleth  human  weakness,  without  the  Divine 
Helper. 

It  was  the  happy  Christmas  Eve.  Across  the 
way,  Mr.  Whiting  could  see  tlje  windows  of  his 
neighbor's  mansion  brilliantly  illuminated,  and 
every  now  and  then  between  the  half-closed  curtains 
he  caught  glimpses  of  merry,  bounding  children, 
and  happy  faces  grew  brighter  still  in  the  genial 
glow. 

The  drawing-room  was  deserted ;  there  were  no 
merry  games  there,  no  evergreen  boughs,  no  candles 
burned  in  honor  of  the  Christ  Child.  Only  a  lonely 
man  sat  and  gazed  into  the  dying  fire,  painting  his 
own  hopes  and  fears  in  its  embers.  He  had  to  think 
of  manhood  passed,  and  opportunity  wasted ;  of  his 
soul's  love  and  faith  coined  into  gold,  when  it  should 
have  been  poured  out  in  heart-sunshine.  Others, 
looking  in  that  fire  that  night,  might  have  seen  the 
loving  face  of  the  risen  Christ,  and  have  heard  the 
words,  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

What  did  Mr.  Whiting  see  ?  Alas  !  no  shade  so 
dark  as  that  which  comes  between  us  and  heaven  ! 
He  saw  no  visions,  he  dreamed  no  dreams.  His 
heaven  was  Wall  Street ;  his  angel  faces,  the  hard 
features  of  unrelenting  creditors ;  the  great  concern 
of  his  life,  how  to  meet  his  payments. 

But  then,  you  know,  reader,  business-men  have 
no  time  to  think  of  such  pretty  poetical  things  !  A 


156  THE    SHEAVES    OF   LOVE. 

dollar  gained  makes  some  show;  but  a  step  towards 
heaven,  —  why  that's  all  theory. 

A  soft  hand  fell  on  Mr.  "Whiting's  shoulder.  He 
half  shook  it  off;  thinking,  in  his  re  very,  that  it  was 
his  creditor,  Hardgrasp. 

"Dear  Uncle  William,  I  wanted  to  say,  '  Good 
night.'  " 

"  Good-night,  dear,  good-night  !  "  But  Alice 
thought  he  was  strangely  absent-minded ;  for,  in- 
•stead  of  dismissing  her,  he  drew  her  gently  to  his 
side,  and  said,  "You  have  come  back  the  same, 
Alice.  I  am  glad  of  that !  " 

"  I  was  hoping  a  little  better,  Uncle  William." 

"  How  could  you  grow  better,  —  any  one  so 
wicked  as  you  are  ? "  said  her  uncle,  in  mock 
seriousness. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Alice  thoughtfully.  "  I  have 
been  thinking  to-night  how  grieved  dear  mother 
must  be  to  think  I  have  come  so  far  short  of  her 
last  prayer  for  me." 

"  What  was  that,  dear  ?  " 

"  That  I  might  be  kept  pure  and  unspotted  from 
the  world." 

Alice's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  uncle.  Neither 
spoke.  The  thought  was  a  great  one.  Mr.  Whit 
ing's  head  sank  low  upon  his  breast,  as  if  in  com 
munion  with  himself;  and,  when  he  again  spoke,  his 
voice  was  low  and  tender. 

"  I  had  a  mother  once,  Alice,  and  she  prayed 


CHRISTMAS    HOLIDAYS    AT    HOME.  157 

that  prayer  for  me.  One  day  she  blessed  me,  and 
died.  I  was  a  wild,  wayward  boy  then.  I  am  a 
weak,  .wayward  man  now.  Her  prayer  has  never 
been  answered.  There,  go  now,"  he  continued ; 
"  leave  me  alone  awhile.  I  want  to  think." 

Alice  withdrew  to  her  chamber.  She  was  much 
astonished  at  her  uncle's  conversation.  He  never 
talked  with  any  other  member  of  the  family  as  he  did 
with  her,  —  rarely  ever  with  her,  but  when  he  did 
she  saw  how  the  crust  of  worldliness  had  hidden  the- 
true  heart  beneath.  He  had  lacked  an  object  for 
his  rich  affections.  A  long  time  Alice  sat  and 
mused ;  wondering  if  her  Aunt  Emily  had  ever 
really  loved  him,  wondering  if  his  dead  mother  had 
not  been  good  and  gentle  like  her  own. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A     CLOUD     IN     THE     SKY. 

"  ADA,"  said  Mr.  Whiting,  as  they  sat  at  break 
fast  the  next  morning,  "  how  much  longer  is  your 
echool-course  ?  '* 

"  About  a  year  more,  father.     Why  ?  " 

"  I  am  thinking  that  by  next  Christmas  you  will 
finish  your  studies.  What  do  you  intend  to  do 
then?" 

Ada  looked  up  in  surprise.  "  Why,  what  should 
I  do,  father  ?  I  suppose  I  shall  go  into  society,  and 
make  a  use  of  my  accomplishments." 

Mr.  Whiting  took  another  muffin,  and  slowly  but 
tered  it,  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other. 
Finally  he  said,  "Use,  my  child?  Society  itself  is 
of  no  use.  It  holds  enough  empty  idlers  already." 

"Really,  father,"  said  Lizzie,  "you  are  compli- 
mentaiy  to  the  rest  of  us." 

"  I  am  truthful,  child.  But  what  do  you  intend 
to  do,  Alice  ?  " 

"  I  shall  teach,  if  possible,"  said  Alice ;  «  that 
has  been  my  aim." 

"  You  mustn't  expect  me  to  own  you,  then,"  said 
Lizzie.  "  I  never  could  endure  those  prim  school 
mistresses,  sitting  bolt  upright  by  those  everlasting 
green  desks." 


A    CLOUD   IN    THE   SKY.  159 

"  I  think  it  would  require  more  condescension  for 
Alice  to  own  you,"  said  Fred. 

"  Frederick,"  said  Mrs.  Whiting,  with  some  show 
of  dignity,  "  you  may  keep  your  opinion  till  it  is 
called  for." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Lizzie  ?  "  said 
her  father. 

"  I  ?  Oh !  I  am  going  to  Mrs.  Hammersford's  to 
night.  '  Have  a  good  time  now,  and  let  the  future 
take  care  of  itself,'  is  my  motto." 

Her  father  smiled.  "  I  am  afraid  the  world 
never  will  reckon  you  as  one  of  its  benefactors, 
Lizzie." 

"  No,  it  never  will,  I  am  sure,"  she  answered. 
"  I  am  under  no  obligations  to  the  world ;  but  it  owes 
me  a  good  time,  and  I  am  going  to  have  it.  The 
bee  gathers  honey  from  every  flower,  and  so  will  I." 

"  A  drone  bee,"  said  Fred.  et  Do  you  know  what 
becomes  of  them,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do,  brother  ?  "  said 
Ada.  "  Remember  the  old  adage,  —  *  People  that 
live  in  glass  houses  shouldn't  throw  stones.' ' 

"  Oh !  I  am  living  on  the  strength  of  the  good  I 
am  going  to  do  by-and-by." 

"  And  what  may  that  be  ? "  His  father  also 
looked  up  inquiringly,  fearing  that  something  might 
have  changed  his  aims. 

"  Oh  !  Alice  and  I  have  talked  the  matter  over ; 
and  we've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  world  i» 


160  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

all  going  wrong,  and  that  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  study 
law  in  order  to  put  it  to  rights  again.  Now,  shall  I 
be  a  drone  among  all  those  herebys  and  aforesaids  ? 
Not  much  honey  in  law-flowers,  —  hey,  Lizzie  ?  " 

Mr.  Whiting  took  his  hat  from  the  hall.  "  I  am 
glad,"  said  he,  "  that  you  have  not  chosen  the  mer 
cantile  life  ;  for  it  is  full  of  cares.  See,  it  does  not 
leave  me  even  time  for  Christmas !  " 

"  Well,  Lizzie,"  said  her  mother,  "  do  you  know 
who  are  going  to  be  at  Mrs.  Hammersford's  to 
night?" 

"  Oh  !  all  the  beau  monde,  mother ;  and  I  hear  that 
she  has  a  nephew  who  will  be  there,  —  a  young  Mr. 
Hall,  lately  from  Europe.  They  say  he  is  perfectly 
comme  ilfaut" 

Alice  looked  at  Ada  to  see  if  she  had  noticed  the 
name,  but  she  seemed  pre-occupied.  "  It  could  not 
be  the  Mr.  Hall  we  know,"  thought  she. 

Alice  rose  up  with  her  ever-quiet  soberness,  and, 
seeking  her  pretty  chamber,  resigned  herself  to  one 
of  those  long,  silent  self-communings,  in  which  the 
soul  makes  a  pause  and  is  silent ;  while  memory 
hallows  anew  the  past,  folding  again  its  white  wings 
over  the  relics  of  old  buried  joys  and  hopes  and  by 
gone  sorrows.  In  every  deep,  earnest  heart  there  is 
always  a  chamber  whose  door  is  locked  and  guarded, 
and  on  the  lock  is  written,  ' s  Holy."  But  once  in  a 
while,  when  some  little  chord  of  that  heart  is  stirred, 
—  it  may  be  only  by  some  word  or  look  or  tear,  or 


A    CLOUD   IN    THE    SKY.  161 

when  an  anniversary  recalls  happy  hours,  —  we  will 
enter  the  sacred  place  alone,  and  with  thought  and 
prayer  and  tears  consecrate  it  anew  to  the  remem 
brance  of  our  loves. 

So  it  was  with  Alice.  Christmas  passed  with  her 
in  resolutions  for  greater  guard  over  herself,  and  in 
dreamings  of  olden  happiness.  Once  more  she  lived 
over  the  happy  Christmas  days  of  her  childhood. 
She  saw  the  great  chimney-corner,  where  so  often 
a  tiny  stocking  had  hung ;  she  remembered  with 
what  trembling  eagerness  she  had  drawn  up  the 
mysterious  gifts,  and  heard  the  voice  of  her  good 
father  say,  "  May  God  bless  my  daughter !  "  Ah ! 
"the  sorrow  of  all  sorrows  is  remembering  hap 
pier  things."  It  was  a  holy  time  with  her  when 
passion  was  banished,  and  the  voice  of  the  world 
was  dumb.  The  tears  trickled  between  her  fingers, 
as  one  sometimes  hears  in  the  lull  of  the  tempest  the 
sound  of  the  fast-dropping  rain. 

A  knock  at  the  door  brought  her  back  to  the 
present.  Chiding  her  weakness,  she  rose  to  answer 
the  summons.  It  was  Ada. 

"Cousin  Alice,  Lizzie  wants  you  to  arrange  her 
hair.  She  says  you  have  so  much  taste." 

It  was  an  unwelcome  task,  for  Lizzie  was  very 
fastidious.  Alice's  hands  trembled  some  as  she  ad 
justed  the  heavy  braids. 

"  Well,  Ada,  how  does  it  look  ? "  said  Lizzie, 
when  she  had  finished. 


16&  THE    SHEAVES    OF    I.OVR. 

"  Superbly  :  what  fine  taste  Alice  has  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  then  some  can  do  these  things  betUsr 
than  any  thing  else,"  said  Lizzie.  "  There,  Alice, 
that  will  do.  Now,  Ada,  help  me  clasp  this  brace 
let." 

Not  even  a  fl  thank  you  "  for  poor  Alice.  In  the 
hall  she  met  Fred.  His  fine  face  was  agitated  by 
passion;  and  his  usually  easy,  careless  expression 
had  given  place  to  one  of  alarm. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Cousin  Fred  ?  Aren't  you 
going  to  Mrs.  Hammersford's  ?  " 

"  No,  Cousin  Alice  :  come  into  the  parlor,  I  want 
to  talk  with  you."  He  drew  her  to  a  seat,  and, 
without  answering  her  eager  questions,  commenced 
talking  rapidly. 

"  You  see,  I  went  down  to  Mr.  Cady's  office  to 
meet  William,  and,  not  finding  any  one  there,  I 
stepped  into  the  back  room,  and  took  up  a  book.  I 
know  not  how  long  I  had  sat  there,  till  I  heard 
father's  name  mentioned  in  an  earnest  conversation. 
I  listened,  and  found  that  the  two  clerks  were  talk 
ing  about  the  failures  of  the  last  week." 

"  '  There's  Sterne  and  Bros.,'  said  one,  *  they're 
completely  smashed  up ;  and  Arlington  has  "  gone 
by  the  board,"  and  so  has  Longstreet.' 

"  *  Yes,'  said  the  other  ;  '  and  do  you  know  that 
this  last  was  largely  indebted  to  Whiting  1  They 
say  he  owed  him  twenty  thousand  dollars,  taking  it 
all  in  all.'  '  Yes,  I  heard  of  it  this  morning,'  re- 


A    CLOUD    IN    THE    SKY.  163 

i 

sunied  the  first.  *  They  say  he  found  it  as  much  as  he 
could  do  to  meet  his  last  payments  ;  and,  now  the 
first  of  January  is  at  hand,  he  will  probably  go  by 
the  board  too.  People  thought  he  was  safe  as  gos 
pel,  but  I  reckon  he's  oil  his  last  legs  now.'  '  Sure 
enough,'  said  the  other  confidently  :  *  extravagance 
and  expensive  habits  have  killed  him.  Why  they 
say  his  daughters  throw  away  money  like  water, 
and  that  fast  son  of  his  is  enough  to  ruin  a  prince.' " 

Fred  was  becoming  very  excited.  His  eyes  were 
glowing  with  suppressed  feeling,  his  hands  were 
clenched,  and  he  seemed  altogether  more  like  one  be 
side  himself  than  the  easy,  thoughtless  boy  he  was. 

"  Dear  cousin,"  said  Alice,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  "  don't  tell  me,  if  it  makes  you  feel  so  badly. 
Wait  till  another  time  !  " 

He  shook  her  off  almost  rudely.  "  Yes,  I  will 
tell  of  it,"  exclaimed  he ;  "  for  it  makes  me  mad !  A 
pretty  piece  of  gossip  they  made  of  it  to  be  sure  !  — 
going  on  about  our  private  business ;  and  wonder 
ing  even  whether  the  horses  would  be  sold,  and  if 
old  Greenleaf  would  buy  them  ;  and  what  the  house 
would  probably  bring  if  it  were  put  up  at  auction." 

"  Cousin  Fred !  " 

"  Yes ;  and,  to  cap  the  climax,  venturing  some 
pretty  little  opinions  of  their  own  about  pride,  folly, 
&c.  Now,  Alice,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  and 
Fred  turned  his  glowing,  excited  face  towards  his 
cousin. 


164  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

If  he  had  attempted  to  read  that  face,  he  would 
have  found  it  a  study.  The  sweet  seriousness  usual 
to  her  still  sat  upon  the  high  brow ;  the  lines  around 
the  mouth  had  lost  their  wonted  firmness,  and  now 
quivered  with  emotion,  through  which  one  might 
still  see  an  effort  at  stern  self-control ;  and  the  lights 
and  shadows  played  alternately  over  her  features, 
expressing  the  hope  and  fear  of  the  mind,  —  pity  for 
Fred,  mingled  with  apprehension  of  coming  evil. 
One  sometimes  lives  an  hour  of  thought  in  a  single 
minute.  So  Alice  saw  her  dream-castles  vanish,  and 
her  hopes  and  aims  swallowed  up  in  a  threatening 
cloud  of  evil.  But  the  selfish  fear  was  not  enter 
tained,  and  she  turned  to  answer  Fred's  question. 
"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  my  Cousin  Fred  has 
heard  a  gossipping  rumor,  and  is  distressing  himself 
unnecessarily." 

"  But,  Alice,  you  can't  realize  it,  —  you  can't  see 
it  as  I  do.  To  hear  those  sixpenny  fellows  using 
our  name  like  common  property !  It  would  have 
roused  even  your  cool  blood." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  think  that  Uncle  Wil 
liam  is  involved  ?  " 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  it  before  this.  But  now  I 
remember  that  father  has  looked  pale  and  careworn 
lately.  And,  when  I  asked  him  for  money  yester 
day,  he  put  me  off,  and  said  something  about  diffi 
culty  in  meeting  payments.  O  Alice !  if  this 
thing  should  come  upon  us,  what  will  we  do  ?  " 


A    CLOUD    IN    THE   SKY.  165 

"  It  is  so  sudden,"  said  Alice.  "  I  trust  it  is  a 
mere  rumor ;  but  at  all  events  we  must  hope  in  God, 
and  take  courage." 

l(  That's  what  you  always  say,"  returned  Fred.  "  It 
seems  to  me,  Alice,  that  your  religion  is  a  general 
panacea  for  all  the  ills  of  life.  But  it  can't  make 
the  money  we  need,  nor  can  it  prevent  an  attach 
ment  by  our  creditors,  —  it  don't  do  us  any  practical 
good  !  And  it  makes  you  so  cool  about  every  thing. 
While  I  am  in  a  fever  of  excitement,  you  sit  and 
look  at  me  like  a  Greek  statue,  as  if  we  were  not 
standing  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  as  if  we  were  not  in 
danger  of  losing  every  thing  worth  living  for." 

"  But  I  am  not  in  such  danger,  Cousin  Fred.  Is 
the  horizon  of  life  bounded  by  the  rim  of  a  gold 
coin  ?  Heaven  forbid  !  " 

"  But  what  will  you  do  ?  Despicable  as  gold 
seems  to  you,  it  is  the  only  source  of  comfort  in  this 
life.  Honor,  position,  peac*  circle  in  its  circumfer 
ence.  What  shall  we  do  without  it  ?  " 

"  Have  we  not  mutual  love,  strong  hands,  willing 
hearts,  my  dear  cousin  ?  "  said  Alice. 

"  All  theory,"  said  Fred.  "  I  never  can  under 
stand  you,  when  you  come  upon  these  things,  Alice. 
It  seems  more  like  a  poet's  song  than  a  possible 
truth.  I  tell  you,  Cousin  Alice,  poetry  and  senti 
ment,  and  fine  theory,  will  do  very  well  on  a  sofa  in 
an  elegant  drawing-room  ;  but  take  it  in  a  homely 
kitchen,  with  the  hands  to  work  it  out,  instead  of  the 


166  THE    SHEAVES    OF   LOVE. 

mouth  to  speak  it,  and  its  robes  of  fine  gossamer 
give  place  to  common  homespun,  and  its  rainbow 
dyes  to  the  dust  and  smoke  of  prosaic  work." 

Alice  smiled.  It  was  a  sad  smile,  yet  through  it 
Fred  could  see  the  hope  and  courage  of  her  soul. 
"You  must  excuse  me,  Cousin  Alice,"  said  he  ;  "  but 
I  am  afraid  your  moonshine  would  all  melt  away  in 
sweeping  a  room  or  peeling  potatoes." 

"  I  will  not  boast,  Cousin  Fred.  I  do  not  know 
how  much  courage  I  should  have.  I  hope  the  trial 
will  not  come ;  but,  if  it  does,  God*  helping  me,  I 
will  do  my  duty." 

"  Forgive  me,  Alice,"  said  Fred  impulsively,  kiss 
ing  her  cheek.  "  You  are  too  good  to  live.  One 
of  these  days,  I  shall  see  you  flying  away  like  the 
angels  in  our  picture  of  the  shepherds." 

The  generous  love  in  Fred's  face  chased  away  the 
dark  trouble  that  had  brooded  over  it,  as  a  burst  of 
sunshine  sometimes  hangs  a  bow  on  the  darkest 
cloud. 

"  There  now,  Cousin  Fred,  you  begin  to  look 
quite  like  yourself  again." 

He  rose  to  go,  and  the  flush  faded  from  his  hand 
some  face. 

"  We  will  hope  for  the  best,"  said  Alice,  as  she 
left  the  room. 

The  carriage  that  bore  Mrs.  Whiting  and  her 
fashionable  daughters  to  the  scene  of  display  had 
rolled  away  from  the  door  before  Alice  sought  rest 


A   CLOUD    IN    THE    SKY.  167 

and  thought  in  the  drawing-room.  Only  one  gas- 
burner  threw  a  feeble  light  through  the  apartment, 
and  seemed  to  melt  every  object  into  an  indiscrimi 
nate  haze.  She  did  not  turn  on  the  gas,  for  she 
liked  the  soft  twilight-like  shadow  better.  She  could 
see  the  little  marble  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  point 
ing  to  the  hour  of  nine.  The  coal  in  the  grate 
burned  low,  and  the  pictures  on  the  walls  rested 
half  in  light  and  half  in  shadow.  Alice  nestled 
down  in  the  window-seat,  and  drew  the  crimson  cur 
tains  around  her.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  she  began 
to  question  with  herself.  Why  was  she  left  alone 
in  that  great  house  ?  Why  had  not  Mrs.  Hammers- 
ford  invited  her  ?  To  be  sure,  she  was  not  ac 
quainted  with  her  ;  but  then  neither  was  Ada. 
Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  probably  Ada  had  been 
introduced  through  Lizzie  ;  and  she  knew  that  Lizzie 
never  would  speak  to  her  fashionable  friends  of  her 
plain,  unbrilliant,  home-like  cousin.  No :  she  did 
not  wonder  now.  The  thought  cost  her  a  moment's 
pang ;  but  Alice  had  known  too  many  real  sorrows, 
had  seen  too  much  of  life,  to  be  long  disquieted  be 
cause  a  vain,  giddy  girl  had  not  seen  fit  to  notice 
her.  Her  thoughts  referred  to  Lizzie's  breakfast- 
table  conversation.  This  young  Mr.  Hall,  —  who 
could  he  be?  "A  nephew  of  Mrs.  Hammersford, 
lately  from  Europe  !  "  Could  it  be  the  same  ?  No : 
he  had  never  mentioned  having  any  relatives  in  New 
York.  Then  her  mind  turned  back  upon  itself,  and 


168 


THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 


tried  to  analyze  its  thought.  Why  should  she 
care?  Why  should  she  think  of  Edward  Hall  at 
all  ?  She  tried  to  dismiss  the  subject ;  but  as  often 
it  returned  again,  with  this  disagreeable  reflection, 
—  What  if  it  should  be  the  same  ?  He  would  see 
Ada  there,  and  inquire  for  her.  What  would  he 
think  of  it  ? 

Alice  heard  her  uncle's  step  in  the  hall.  Her 
first  impulse  was  to  fly  and  open  the  door  for  him  ; 
but,  with  a  dull,  heavy  tread  he  passed  on,  and 
Alice  heard  the  library  door  close  after  him.  Here 
was  a  new  cause  for  apprehension.  Her  uncle  never 
went  to  the  library  in  the  evening,  —  he  always  sat 
in  the  drawing-room.  Again :  all  his  family  knew 
that  when  he  went  there  it  was  upon  business,  and 
that  he  never  liked  to  be  disturbed.  She  felt  anx 
ious  and  lonely.  She  longed  to  go  to  her  uncle  to 
pour  out  her  affection,  and  to  cheer  him  with  little 
offices  of  love ;  but  she  would  not  intrude  on  his 
privacy.  So  she  drew  the  crimsom  curtains  yet 
closer  around  her,  and  thought  of  the  threatening 
evil  which  brooded  over  her  uncle's  affairs.  She 
had  never  dreamed  of  her  uncle  ever  failing,  for  he 
was  reputed  immensely  wealthy.  Then  she  thought 
of  her  hopes  and  plans, —  of  her  studies  almost  com 
pleted,  of  the  honorable  place  she  hoped  to  hold  as 
a  teacher ;  and  felt  that  she  could  not  give  them  all 
up.  She  looked  at  her  hands, — they  were  soft  and 
white.  Would  they  be  able  to  earn  a  livelihood ! 


A   CLOUD    TO    THE   SKY.  169 

Would   she   be   a   burden   or  help   to  "her  uncle  ? 
Should  she  sta^  there,  or  go  out  into  the  world  ? 

So  Alice  thought  on,  imagining  what  she  should 
do  in  case  their  fears  were  verified,  yet  hoping  all 
the  time  that  it  would  prove  a  mistaken  rumor. 
The  little  clock  slowly  struck  eleven,  and  its  tones 
called  back  her  wandering  thoughts.  "What  can 
be  the  matter  with  Uncle  William  ?  "  thought  she. 
"  Two  whole  hours  in  the  library,  and  no  supper ! 
What  if  he  should  be  sick !  " 

She  went  into  the  kitchen.  Only  one  little  taper 
glimmered  on  the  table,  yet  giving  light  enough  to 
discover  Content  fast  asleep  in  a  corner. 

"  Content !    Content !  " 

"Yes,  massa! " 

"  It's  me,  'Tenty.  I  want  you  to  get  me  a 
candle." 

"  Oh  !  it's  Missee  Alice.  I've  been  dreaming  of 
the  New  Jerusalem,  bress  de  Lord !  Ole  'Tent  soon 
be  in  heaven." 

"  Well,  well,  Content,  if  you're  awake,  get  me  a 
candle.  Where's  Sam  ?  " 

"  He  done  gone  wid  Ole  John,  honey.  He  not 
much  'count  no  ways,  so  I  tole  him  to  take  hisself 
off." 

"  You  must  keep  awake,  Content ;  for  the  family 
Ai-e  away,  and  I'm  going  into  the  library." 

She  stole  to  the  library  door  on  tiptoe,  and  stood 

a  moment  listening.     There  was   no  sound.     She 

s 


170  THE   SHELVES    OF    LOVE. 

rapped  softly,  and  bent  her  head,  expecting  to  hear 
her  uncle's  voice  say,  "  Come  in."  Still  there  was 
no  sound.  Once,  twice,  three  times  she  repeated 
her  timid  knock;  but  the  door  remained  firmly 
closed,  and  the  same  mocking  stillness  was  the  only 
answer. 

Alice  was  alarmed.  In  her  eager  love  she  saw 
her  uncle  sick,  perhaps  dying ;  and,  turning  the 
knob  softly,  she  entered.  By  the  soft  rays  of  the 
study-lamp,  she  could  see  her  uncle  bending  over  a 
heap  of  closely  written  papers,  wholly  absorbed  in 
his  work.  He  did  not  even  notice  her  entrance,  but 
kept  on  rapidly  sorting  out  old  papers,  and  casting 
up  accounts  with  an  unwearied  pen. 

It  was  a  most  uncomfortable  position.  Alice  did 
not  know  whether  to  retreat  softly  or  speak  to  him. 
She  put  down  her  candle  on  a  table,  and  stood 
watching  him  at  his  labor.  His  face,  so  mild  and 
beautiful  in  repose,  was  now  marked  by  heavy  lines, 
as  if  of  care  or  watching  ;  his  broad,  white  forehead 
•was  knit,  as  if  in  intense  thought ;  and  the  lips 
were  compressed  as  if  in  pain.  The  expression  of 
the  whole  face  was  one  of  haggard  anguish.  Surely, 
one  looking  upon  it  for  the  first  time  might  hope  it 
was  not  an  index  to  the  mind. 

The  stillness  of  the  room  was  only  broken  by  the 
hurried  movement  of  Mr.  Whiting's  pen.  Alice 
hardly  dared  to  breathe.  She  dreaded,  and  yet 
almost  hoped,  that  her  uncle  would  discover  her. 


£    CLOUD    IN    THE   SKY.  171 

Still  he  wrote  on,  and  still  she  could  not  gather 
courage  to  address  him.  Suddenly  the  busy  hand 
stopped  its  work,  his  face  relaxed  into  a  look  of 
utter  weariness,  and  he  sank  back  in  his  chair  with 
a  deep  groan. 

Alice  sprang  forward,  with  utter  self-forgetful* 
ness.     "  Dear  Uncle  William,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Why,  child,  how  came  you  here  ?  This  is  no 
place  for  you." 

"  I  know  it,"  returned  Alice  ;  "  but  I  was  afraid 
you  were  sick.  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

Alice  had  a  peculiar  faculty  for  never  being 
refused  any  thing.  Mr.  Whiting  had  looked  grave, 
but  now  his  brow  softened.  "Where  is  your  aunt 
and  the  girls  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Gone  to  Mrs.  Hammersford's  soiree  ;  and  Fred 
has  not  yet  returned  from  his  club." 

"  The  butterflies  of  fashion,"  he  muttered.  "  How 
will  they  bear  the  winter  with  their  painted  wings  ?  " 

"  Dear  uncle,  you  are  weary  and  half  sick.  You 
have  forgotten  your  supper.  Come  into  the  dining- 
room,  —  you  will  feel  better  then." 

"  No,  Alice,  I  am  not  hungry.  You  had  better 
go  back  to  the  drawing-room.  I  am  very  busy." 

"  But,  uncle,  I  wish  you  would  have  some  supper. 
I  will  pour  out  your  tea  myself.  Don't  you  want 
me  to  ?  " 

Mr.  Whiting  drew  Alice  towards  him,  and  put 
her  on  his  knee.  His  face  was  very,  very  grave. 


172 


THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOTE. 


A  long  time  he  looked  into  her  eyes,  till  she 
dropped  their  lids  beneath  the  searching  gaze. 

"  Little  Alice,  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  So  much !  Uncle  William  !  " 

"  But  do  you  love  me,  or  my  wealth  ?  Would 
you  love  me  as  -well  if  I  could  give  you  none  of  the 
advantages  you  have  now  ?  " 

"  Dear  uncle,  what  have  I  done  that  you  should 
douht  me  ?  Did  I  not  love  my  father  and  mother  ? 
They  were  poor.  Next  to  them,  I  love  you  best." 

A  tear  stole  down  Mr.  Whiting's  face.  Alice 
had  not  seen  him  weep  since  the  day  he  stood 
beside  her  mother's  death-bed. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  have  one  trea 
sure  left ! " 

Alice  counted  one  more  Sheaf  in  the  Harvest  of 
Love. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

DARK     PROSPECTS. 

THE  morning  papers  were  full  of  the  "  great 
failure."  Edward  Hall  laid  them  aside,  and  thought 
of  the  dazzling  beauty  of  Lizzie  "Whiting,  the  belle 
of  yesternight.  Sic  transit,  said  he  to  himself. 
Then  he  remembered  his  promise  to  call  that 
morning. 

He  ascended  the  long  flight  of  marble  steps,  and 
was  ushered  into  the  drawing-room.  While  await 
ing  Lizzie,  he  looked  over  a  number  of  daguerreo 
types  which  lay  upon  a  side-table.  One  by  one  he  put 
them  aside  :  they  were  the  faces  of  strangers.  But 
why  did  he  pause,  and  gaze  earnestly  at  one  ?  Why 
did  he  start,  as  if  in  a  sudden  surprise  ?  Surely  he 
had  seen  that  face  before.  It  could  be  no  other, 
—  it  was  the  face  of  Alice  Morton  ! 

"  Miss  Whiting,"  said  he,  when  they  had  ex 
hausted  memories  of  last  night's  soiree,  "  will  you 
tell  me  who  this  picture  represents  ?  It  reminds 
me  strongly  of  a  friend  I  once  knew." 

"  That  ?  Oh  !  that's  my  cousin,  Alice  Morton. 
She  has  lived  six  or  seven  years  with  us.  Her 
parents  died  when  she  was  quite  young,  and  mother 
took  her  out  of  sheer  charity." 

It   was   a   wonder  that   Edward's  look  did  not 


174  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

freeze  Lizzie.  "  I  am  well  acquainted  with  her," 
said  he ;  "  and  she  is  one  of  my  most  valued 
friends.  I  shall  do  myself  the  pleasure  to  call  and 
see  her.  Good  morning,  Miss  "Whiting."  And 
Edward  bowed  himself  from  the  room. 

From  this  time  Lizzie  had  another  cause  for  dis 
liking  Alice.  She  had  wounded  her  vanity. 

The  failure  of  Mr.  Whiting  was  complete.  The 
fashionable  world,  which  had  smiled  on  their  success, 
now  turned  to  them  the  cold  shoulder,  and  talked 
openly  of  their  folly  and  extravagance.  An  attach 
ment  was  put  upon  their  house  and  property,  and 
they  must  leave  their  present  home  in  a  month.  If 
some  creditors,  more  lenient  than  others,  had  not 
compassionated  their  distress,  they  would  have  been 
wholly  stripped  of  their  property.  Adversity  shows 
up  the  character.  Mr.  Whiting,  nervous  and  sensi- 
tive>  shut  himself  up  in  his  room,  away  from  the 
sight  of  his  friends.  Mrs.  Whiting  lay  really  sick 
with  a  low  fever.  She  was  irritable  and  nervous  to 
the  last  degree. 

Of  course  all  hope  of  the  girls'  return  to  school 
was  abandoned.  The  family  took  their  meals  almost 
in  silence,  and  the  great  rooms  below  were  shut  up 
in  dreary  gloom.  Two  weeks  had  passed  since 
Christmas,  and  as  yet  no  plan  had  been  decided 
upon  in  regard  to  their  future.  Mrs.  Whiting  would 
not  have  exerted  herself  to  think  of  these  things, 
even  if  her  health  had  allowed  ;  and  Ada  and  Lizzie 


DAEK    PROSPECTS.  175 

seemed  paralyzed  by  the  shock.  Fred  was  moody 
and  desponding.  There  was  no  one  to  rally  the 
sinking  energies  of  the  family. 

Mr.  Whiting  made  no  effort.  He  looked  back 
upon  his  life  as  upon  a  wasted  heritage.  "  I  wasted 
my  substance  in  riotous  living,"  he  said,  "  and  now 
it  is  given  to  another."  He  avoided  the  society 
even  of  Alice  and  his  children,  for  he  thought  he 
saw  reproach  in  their  faces. 

One  day  a  letter  was  put  into  Alice's  hand.  The 
well-known  handwriting  of  Ellen  Lee  met  her  eye. 
"  Only  think,  dear  Alice,"  she  wrote,  "  I  am  to 
enter  on  my  duties  as  teacher  next  week.  Now  no 
more  bufferings  with  poverty,  no  more  taunts.  The 
sky  is  clear  blue,  and  hope  has  painted  a  beautiful 
rainbow  over  it.  By  the  way,  I  forgot  to  tell  you 
that  mother  and  I  have  decided  to  move,  that  we 
may  live  near  the  institute.  It  will  be  much 
pleasanter,  you  know,  for  me  to  live  at  home.  So 
the  old  house  will  be  shut  up,  unless  some  one  will 
rent  or  buy  it.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  it  as  a 
summer  residence  ?  I  am  laughing  at  my  folly, 
Alice,  in  asking  such  a  question.  It  would  be 
funny,  indeed,  to  see  your  uncle's  fine  family  in  our 
homely  rooms.  Brother  Charles  is  doing  finely : 
report  says  he  bids  fair  to  become  a  finished  artist. 
Grandpa  sends  love.  I  am  so  proud  and  happy, 
Alice,  I  don't  know  one  now  that  I  envy." 

Alice  thought  of  Ellen's  hopeful  future.     Her's 


176  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

/ 

had  been  hopeful  once,  but  the  cup  had  been  dashed 
from  her  lips  when  it  seemed  overflowing  with  hap 
piness.  She  crushed  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and 
bowed  her  head  upon  it  ;  while  her  heart  sent  forth 
an  earnest  prayer  for  faith  and  strength.  There  was 
nothing  left  but  prayer ;  but  this  was  enough  for 
Alice.  She  remembered  the  promise,  "Thou  wilt 
keep  him  in  perfect  peace  whose  mind  is  stayed  on 
thee."  Slowly  hope  and  courage  came  back  to  her. 
She  had  been  fed  with  manna  in  the  wilderness. 

"Lord,  evermore  give  me  this  bread,"  she  said 
aloud.  "  Realize  to  me  the  promise,  that  in  due  time 
we  shall  reap,  if  we  faint  not." 

"Alice!"  said  a  voice  near  her.  Mr.  Whiting 
took  a  seat  beside  her.  Alice  thought  he  looked  ten 
years  older,  so  well  had  care  and  trouble  told  their 
story  in  his  face. 

"  Alice,"  said  he,  "  I  have  ruined  your  hopes  too. 
No  wonder  you  pray,  —  I  wish  I  could.  I  have 
even  more  need,  for  I  fear  even  my  own  little  Alice 
may  take  away  her  love  for  me." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  William  !  pray  don't  talk  so  !  I'm 
happy,  —  yes,  very  happy,"  she  repeated  to  herself, 
as  if  striving  to  make  herself  think  so  even  against 
the  dull,  weary  beatings  of  her  heart ;  "  we  shall 
all  be  happy  together.  And  you  and  Aunt  Emily 
and  we  children  will  all  love  each  other  very  much. 
See !  do  I  not  look  hopeful  ?  I  feel  really  strong, 
and  would  like  to  go  to  work  right  away  if  I  only 


DA.EK    PROSPECTS.  177 

knew  what  to  do.  Haven't  you  something  that  I 
can  do  for  you  ?  "  she  said,  putting  her  cheek  close 
up  to  her  uncle's,  and  smiling,  although,  in  spite  of 
her  effort,  the  smile  was  a  sad  one. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  he  answered  fondly,  "you  can  pray 
for  me.  Perhaps  the  prayers  of  two  angels  —  one 
in  heaven  and  one  here  —  may  prevail.  You  were 
talking  about  work.  Do  you  think  those  little 
white  hands  would  bear  soiling  at  hard  labor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  indeed,  uncle  !  Only  tell  me  what  to 
do.  Try  me  and  see." 

Mr.  Whiting's  face  brightened  somewhat.  "  Let 
us  see,"  he  said,  —  "  what  can  you  do  ?  what  quali 
fications  have  you  ?  How  would  little  Miss  Sobriety 
look  at  a  churn  or  over  an  ironing -table  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  I  think,  uncle,"  said  Alice  de 
murely. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  put  you  to  the  test.  How 
would  you  like  to  live  in  the  country,  and  milk 
cows,  and  make  your  own  bread  and  butter  ?  " 

Alice's  eyes  sparkled.  Visions  of  free,  green 
meadows  and  country  air,  and  whole  depths  of  blue 
sky,  already  rose  up  before  her. 

"  Aj^3  you  going  ?  Oh,  I  hope  you  will,  Uncle 
William  !  You  know  I  am  a  country  girl  myself. 
How  fine  it  would  be  !  I  should  have  a  flower-plot, 
and  a  peony  and  honeysuckle  over  the  windows; 
and  we  would  have  plenty  of  light  and  air  and  sun 
shine.  When  are  you  going,  Uncle  William !  " 
8* 


178  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"  I  didn't  say  I  was  going,  did  I  ?  "  said  Mr. 
"Whiting. 

"  Now,  uncle,  don't  plague  me,"  said  Alice ;  for 
she  saw  her  earnestness  had  amused  him.  "I  am 
going  to  sit  on  your  knee,  as  I  used  to  do,  and  you 
shall  tell  me  all  about  it.  Come,  uncle,  tell  me  a 
story,  —  *  please,'  as  the  children  say." 

Mr.  Whiting  stroked  her  brown  hair,  and  drew 
his  arm  around  her. 

"  Years  ago,"  he  began,  "  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson,  there  stood  a  pretty  white  cottage.  It  was 
a  sweet,  fairy-like  spot.  Even  in  all  my  many 
rovings,  I  can  remember  nothing  half  so  beautiful ; 
and  my  love  returns  to  it  as  the  faithful  needle 
points  to  the  polar  star.  That  was  my  home.  My 
father  was  an  honest,  open-hearted  farmer,  proud  of 
his  broad  acres,  o£  his  wife  and  son.  I  have  been 
said  to  resemble  him  much.  I  have  his  brown  hair 
and  blue  eyes.  No  one  that  I  have  ever  seen  could 
resemble  my  mother.  When  all  my  father's  stern 
ness  was  required  to  check  my  fiery  impulses,  a 
word  or  look  from  her  brought  me  submissive  to  her 
feet,  as  David's  harp  charmed  the  passionate  Saul. 
In  this  peaceful  solitude  I  grew  from  chikyiood  to 
youth,  from  youth  to  manhood.  My  father,  despite 
his  quiet  tastes,  was  ambitious,  and  hoped  his  son 
would  take  a  place  in  the  world  higher  than  his  own. 
I  read  the  lives  of  distinguished  men,  of  successful 
merchants ;  stories  of  the  fame  and  glory  of  the  old 


DARK    PEOSPECTS.  179 

world ;  Homer  and  Virgil  at  school,  —  till  my  young 
heart  glowed  with  their  ambition,  as  many  a  youth 
ful  heart  has  and  will  again.  My  mother  always 
shook  her  head  at  this  course  of  reading.  *  Youth 
is  headstrong  and  foolish  enough  of  itself,'  she 
would  say.  'I  am  afraid  it  is  not  the. best  thing 
to  develop  a  character.'  'Nonsense,  Mary,'  my 
father  would  say :  '  the  boy  has  spirit.  I  want  to 
see  him  make  his  mark  in  the  world.  He  must  win 
his  spurs,  and  I  shall  help  him  do  it.' 

"  Years  brought  changes  to  us.  From  a  wayward 
boy,  I  became  a  headstrong  youth.  Even  my  mo 
ther's  prayers  and  tears  could  not  keep  me  from  my 
long,  daring  rambles ;  and  often  I  would  be  absent 
from  home  a  week.  One  soft  June  day  (shall  1 
ever  forget  it?)  I  came  home  through  the  woods, 
where  I  had  been  roving  for  three  days.  I  entered 
the  house  in  my  usually  boisterous  manner,  when 
one  came  to  me  with  a  hush  upon  his  lips,  and  told 
me  that  my  mother  was  dead.  She  had  died,  and 
left  me  her  blessing;  but  I  was  like  the  prodigal, 
without  his  hope.  I  went  into  the  room  where  my 
mother  lay,  and  gazed  upon  her  still,  white  face. 
If  tears  will  wash  away  sin,  I  believe  I  wept  enough 
to  blot  out  a  multitude.  I  had  stood  in  my  own 
strength.  I  believed  that  my  mother  belonged  to 
me  of  right,  that  it  was  necessary  and  proper  she 
should  love  me  as  she  did ;  but,  beyond  this,  I  be 
lieved  all  love  was  a  myth.  The  sight  of  that  still 


180  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

face  took  the  pride  out  of  me ;  and  the  love  which 
ever  before  I  had  considered  a  weakness  pulled  at 
my  heartstrings  with  a  force  which  no  philosophy 
could  withstand.  Suddenly  from  one  of  the  shut 
ters  a  little  ray  of  sunlight  stole  in,  and  rested 
upon  the  face  of  the  sleeper.  As  if  a  blow  had 
struck  me,  I  started  back.  My  mother's  words  flashed 
over  me :  '  My  son,'  said  she,  *  when  I  took  the 
vows  for  you  at  your  baptism,  a  beautiful  ray  of 
sunlight  stole  in  and  rested  upon  your  face.  And  I 
hailed  it  as  an  omen  that  you  would  be  a  sunray  in 
the  world,  —  a  blessing  to  me  and  others.'  Alas! 
was  not  that  sunray  a  condemnation  ? 

"  I  was  never,  from  that  time,  quite  what  I  was  be 
fore.  I  was  still  proud  and  ambitious,  and  self- 
reliant  :  but  my  heart  was  like  a  magazine  when  a 
spark  falls  into  it ;  for,  if  ever  any  one  spoke  the 
name  of  my  mother,  or  I  saw  a  face  which  recalled 
hers,  my  feelings  would  bear  down  pride  in  one 
passionate  outbreak  as  fierce  as  the  first.  To  this 
hour  the  sunlight  has  for  me  a  faded  glory ;  and  a 
beam  streaming  through  some  crevice  into  a  room 
has  power  to  move  me  as  nothing  else  can." 

Mr.  Whiting  spoke  with  difficulty,  as  if  the  words 
choked  him,  and  Alice  felt  a  tear  drop  on  her  hand. 
Her  own  fell  fast.  "  I  did  not  think,  uncle,"  she 
said,  "  that  your  story  would  be  so  sad." 

"  Other  years  passed  on.  My  father  died,  leav 
ing  me  his  blessing,  and  a  small  fortune,  with  which 


DARK    PROSPECTS.  181 

to  begin  life.  I  listened  to  the  song  of  ambition, 
and  ray  battle-field  was  the  mart  of  trade.  I  learned 
to  drive  a  sharp  bargain,  and  to  glory  in  overreach 
ing  a  rival.  'I  made  myself  a  name  and  fortune, 
and  married,  as  it  was  said,  *  very  advantageously.' 
But  at  last  the  world  and  my  ambition  have  deserted 
me.  Weary  of  life,  disgusted  with  the  world,  my 
only  prayer  i%that  I  may  die  in  peace.  My  old 
home  has  passed  into  the  hands  of  strangers  ;  but  I 
wish  to  seek  some  quiet  country  place  where  I  can 
rest  from  the  turmoil  of  life,  and,  if  possible,  grow 
open-hearted  and  generous  once  more." 

Alice  grasped  her  letter  as  if  a  sudden  thought 
had  occurred  to  her.  If  her  uncle  intended  going 
into  the  country,  he  might  like  Elmwood  Village, 
and  perhaps  he  would  buy  the  Lee  Farm.  And  that 
would  be  so  near  the  seminary.  Who  knew  ?  —  per 
haps  she  might  be  a  teacher  even  yet.  With  trem 
bling  diffidence,  she  placed  the  letter  before  him. 
He  seemed  favorably  impressed,  and*  asked  her  many 
questions  relative  to  the  place,  inquiring  about  the 
house,  land,  society,  &c. 

"The  farm  is  a  beautiful  and  rich  one,"  said 
Alice ;  "  but  the  house  is  old.  If  it  were  repaired, 
however,  I  think  it  would  be  a  very  pleasant  dwell 
ing.  Should  you  rent  a  house,  or  buy,  uncle  ?  " 

"I  shall  probably  buy,"  replied  he.  "I  have 
personal  property  which  my  creditors  cannot  touch, 
sufficient  for  this.  I  will  think  of  it.  I  like  Elm- 


182 


THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 


wood  very  much.     It  is  quiet  and  rural.     I  think 
possibly  I  may  buy  this  place." 

From  this  time,  Alice  felt  as  if  the  matter  'was  the 
same  as  settled. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

AN    OFFEK. 

"  For  life  is  but  a  struggle  of  base  will 
With  intellectual  purpose." 

"A  LADY  in  the  parlor,  to  see  Miss  Alice." 
Alice  started  up  from  the  chair  where  she  had  been 
sitting,  in  the  midst  of  trunks  and  boxes,  and  com 
menced  arranging  her  somewhat  disordered  dress. 
It  was  but  a  week  before  they  would  leave  the  city, 
and  the  house  seemed  in  one  constant  tumult,  save 
when  Alice  undertook  to  draw  some  system  out  of 
the  chaos.  Lizzie  and  Ada,  unused  to  care  or  labor 
of  any  kind,  grew  impatient  over  the  most  trivial 
duties,  and  finally  would  throw  them  by  in  dis 
gust.  Fred  spent  most  of  his  time  away  ;  for  he 
could  not  bear,  he  said,  to  see  their  home  so  dese 
crated.  In  fact,  this  misfortune  had  had  a  painful 
effect  upon  Fred.  He  was  gloomy  and  obstinate ; 
rarely  saying  any  thing  at  home,  and  then  never  a 
pleasant  word.  He  had  a  mercurial  disposition,  — 
happy  or  sad,  according  to  circumstances  ;  and  conse 
quently  his  spirits  were  now  below  zero.  All  his 
•sharp  raillery  and  sparkling  fun  degenerated  into 
bitter  sarcasm,  which  he  delighted  to  pour  out  upon 
Lizzie,  for  the  bare  pleasure  of  witnessing  her  anger. 
Edward  Hall  was  his  favorite  topic.  He  had  called 


184  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

upon  Alice,  as  he  had  promised ;  and  Fred  was  not 
long  in  discerning  his  sister's  discomfiture.  Conse 
quently,  Lizzie  heard  all  about  the  little  boy  who 
didn't  eat  his  supper,  because  he  couldn't  get  it,  and 
sundry  stories  about  rockets  that  came  down  sticks, 
and  other  consolatory  suggestions.  This  usually 
ended  in  a  fit  of  tears  on  the  part  of  Lizzie,  and  a 
complaint  to  her  mother,  who  ended  the  matter  by 
saying  that  her  children  were  her  plagues,  and 
her  health  miserable,  and  she  didn't  know  what  was 
going  to  become  of  them  all. 

"  I  wonder  who  it  can  be !  "  said  Alice,  as  she 
descended  the  stairs. 

The  softened  light  which  came  through  the  heavy 
curtains  revealed  a  lady  dressed  in  black,  seated 
upon  a  couch.  Her  face  was  shaded  by  a  mourning 
veil;  but  Alice's  heart  gave  a  quick  bound,  and, 
springing  forward,  she  grasped  the  stranger's  hand 
with  a  warm  pressure. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Gushing !  "  she  exclaimed,  while 
her  eyes  spoke  a  double  welcome. 

"  Call  me  mother,  Alice ;  it  was  her  wish,  you 
know." 

How  that  trembling  voice  recalled  Lily's !  In 
spite  of  herself,  Alice's  eyes  moistened.  The 
memory  of  their  lost  one  seemed  floating  around 
them,  sanctifying  their  hearts  with  a  loving  and 
holy  influence. 

"She  was  my  only  treasure,  Alice,"  said  Mrs. 


AN    OFFER.  185 

Gushing ;  "  and  her  loss  seems  as  fresh  to  ine  to 
day  as  it  did  then.  Listen,  Alice,"  she  continued. 
"  I  have  come  here  to  make  a  proposition  to  you,  in 
which  my  whole  heart  is  interested.  I  have  never 
forgotten  my  dear  Lily's  last  wish.  She  loved  you 
as  a  sister ;  and  my  heart  yearns  towards  you  as  a 
child.  The  beautiful  form  of  my  child-angel  comes 
to  me  in  my  dreams,  and  joins  our  hands  together  as 
she  did  then.  O  Alice !  may  I  hope  it  may  be  as 
she  wished?  My  heart  is  empty  and  desolate. 
Lonely  and  broken-hearted,  I  have  come  to  give 
you  that  heart,  if  you  will  live  in  it  and  bless  it ;  to 
pour  out  its  affection  upon  my  Lily's  sister,  and 
make  her  my  own  true  and  rightful  child.  Alice, 
can  you  let  me  go  back  to  my  desolate  home,  with 
nothing  to  love  or  live  for  ?  " 

Alice  leaned  her  head  upon  the  couch,  and  wept 
unrestrainedly.  The  sweet,  pleading  tones  had  such 
a  soft  tenderness  in  them,  mingled  with  great 
sadness,  that  Alice  felt  as  if  she  would  like  to  throw 
her  arms  about  her  friend's  neck,  and  rest  in  this 
safe  asylum.  But  she  must  think,  before  she  gave 
herself  away.  Her  uncle  had  given  her  a  home,  and 
educated  her.  As  long  as  she  could  benefit  them, 
did  not  her  duty  say  "  Stay  !  " 

Mrs.  Gushing  had  been  watching  the  many 
changes  which  came  over  Alice's  face.  She  had 
not  anticipated  any  hesitancy  on  her  part,  for  she 
knew  she  had  never  been  entirely  happy  at  her 


186  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

uncle's.  But  Alice  thought  of  her  uncle's  words, 
"  Thank  God,  I  shall  have  one  treasure  left !  "  Her 
conversations  with  him  had  shown  her  how  dear  she 
was  to  him,  —  how  much  she  had  grown  into  his 
love.  Could  she  leave  him,  even  for  a  mother's  love 
and  a  princely  inheritance  ? 

"  No,  mother,"  she  said,  "  it  cannot  be.  My  uncle 
looks  upon  me  as  a  daughter.  There  is  no  one  in 
Uncle  William's  family  that  has  known  poverty,  or 
who  can  comfort  him  in  his  affliction.  I  believe  I 
may  help  them  a  little ;  perhaps  show  them  the 
higher  good,  which  lies  all  around  us,  if  our  eyes 
could  but  see  it,  and  were  not  blinded  by  the  glitter 
of  gold.  I  feel  how  great  is  the  sacrifice  I  shall 
make,  but  it  is  a  cross  I  must  bear  for  duty ;  and  I 
know  that  the  dry  wood  of  many  a  cross  has  budded 
and  blossomed,  and  borne  heavenly  fruit." 

She  had  risen  in  her  emotion,  and  now  stood  with 
clasped  hands  and  tearful  eyes  looking  into  Mrs. 
Cushing's  face.  Surely,  could  that  high  thought 
and  noble  speech  be  mere  affectation  ?  Could  that 
DC  a  theory  which  would  melt  away  in  the  smoke  of 
a  homely  kitchen  ?  Such  sublime  trusts  are  never 
found  by  logic.  They  are  the  outbreathings  of  a 
spirit  at  one  with  the  Infinite  Love.  They  are  the 
expression  of  a  patience  and  hope  born  of  Christian 
principle. 

Tears  fell  over  Mrs.  Cushing's  face.  "I  ought 
not  to  have  expected  so  great  a  thing,"  said  she. 


AN    OFFER.  187 

"  I  suppose  I  am  not  worthy  yet."  She  talked  long 
with  Alice,  — reminded  her  of  the  labor  and  trial  of 
poverty,  and  of  the  weariness  of  the  hard  world ; 
but  Alice  replied  in  the  same  lofty  language,  though 
with  tearful  sadness. 

She  rose  to  go,  and  extended  her  hand  in  parting, 
—  "  God  give  you  strength  and  grace,  my  dear  one, 
that  whatever  path  you  tread  may  be  brightened  by 
the  knowledge  of  a  good  life ;  and  may  our  Father 
give  his  angels  charge  concerning  you !  One  thing 
more,  dear  Alice,  —  will  you  come  to  me  whenever 
your  duty  tells  you  you  may  ?  " 

A  weeping  assent,  a  clasp  of  the  hand,  and  she 
was  gone.  Alice  sank  down  upon  the  couch,  and, 
burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  tried  to  think.  In 
the  world  of  fashion  this  would  have  been  called  a 
grand^  chance.  Few  could  have  withstood  such 
temptations  as  money,  dress,  ease,  —  to  say  nothing 
of  the  opportunity  of  polish  and  education.  Alice 
believed  not  in  enjoying  for  its  mere  sake,  but  in 
doing.  She  held  that  every  desire,  every  ambition 
and  love,  should  be  crucified,  which  kept  the  soul 
from  walking  in  the  straight  path  of  duty,  or  reaching 
its  highest  development.  Such  a  doctrine  annihilates 
selfishness.  But  there  was  another  and  yet  stronger 
temptation.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gushing  we're  going 
abroad.  He  had  been  chosen  minister  to  a  foreign 
court ;  and  his  wife  was  to  go  with  him,  that  she 
might  forget  her  recent  sorrow  in  the  midst  of  new 


188  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

scenes.  What  temptation  could  well  be  stronger  to 
a  mind  with  an  exquisite  love  of  the  beautiful  in 
nature,  art,  and  humanity  ?  As  the  daughter  of  a 
United  States  Minister,  the  very  noblest  society 
would  be  open  to  her.  Was  it  not  something  to 
be  thought  of?  Had  she  decided  wisely?  All 
these  thoughts  crowded  upon  her.  That  night,  in 
the  stillness  of  her  room,  she  gave  these  doubts  full 
audience ;  weighing  pleasure  against  duty,  desire 
against  conviction,  "  the  baser  will  against  the  intel 
lectual  purpose."  The  fair  halls  of  that  beautiful 
home  rose  up  before  her ;  the  harmony  of  a  life  shel 
tered  from  the  rude  blasts  of  poverty  and  the  world 
might  be  hers.  The  blessing  of  a  mother's  love  and 
the  kind  hand  of  a  father  were  offered  her,  yet  she 
would  not  reach  forth  her  hand  and  take  them. 

"  There  is  yet  time,"  whispered  stubborn  Pesire. 
"  Your  whole  soul  protests  against  such  a  sacrifice. 
Go  to  Mrs.  Gushing,  and  tell  her  so." 

Then  rose  up  a  vision  of  gay  Paris,  and  blue-eyed 
Venice,  and  soft,  dreamy  Italy.  -  Her  feet  might 
wander  in  the  shades  where  Dante  mused  and  Tasso 
sung  ;  she  might  pluck  a  leaf  from  the  tomb  of  Vir 
gil.  In  that  hour,  she  felt  how  strong  her  enthu 
siasm  could  be. 

Then  another  thought  came  which  had  never 
occurred  to  her  before.  Perhaps  she  would  be 
accounted  a  burden  in  her  uncle's  family.  Could 
she  bear  this  ? 


AN    OFFER.  189 

Oh  strangely  mysterious  human  heart !  Like 
the  strings  of  a  harp  jarred  by  some  rude  hand, 
so  human  passions  drown  its  sweet  harmonies  in 
harsh  and  stirring  discords.  So  is  it  with  us 
all,  till  the  breath  of  prayer  wakens  the  golden 
strings,  and  the  hand  of  the  great  Harper,  passing 
over  them,  fills  the  life  with  the  harmonies  of  love 
and  faith. 

Months  after  this,  in  her  distant  country  home, 
Alice  heard  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gushing  had  sailed 
for  Europe.  If  the  thought  cost  her  any  pang,  it 
was  known  only  to  her  own  heart ;  for  she  had 
never  said  a  word  concerning  it  to  her  uncle.  With 
her  usual  energy  and  self-forgetfulness,  she  entered 
upon  her  work,  —  now  here,  now  there,  and  every 
where  with  words  of  counsel  and  courage  to  the 
weaker  spirits  around  her. 

Mr.  Whiting's  creditors,  more  lenient  than  usual, 
allowed  the  family  many  household  articles  to  which 
they  had  become  endeared.  Lizzie's  piano  went 
with  them,  and  the  choicest  of  the  pictures,  with  the 
family  portraits.  The  library  was  sold  ;  but  many 
good  and  valuable  books  were  retained,  as  the  pro 
perty  of  Fred  and  Alice.  The  expense  of  servants 
was  out  of  the  question.  So  John  and  Netta  were 
dismissed;  but  Content,  being  an  old  and  valued 
servant,  was  retained  to  aid  them  in  their  new  home. 
And  Mr.  Whiting  also  deemed  it  expedient  to  en 
gage  the  services  of  our  old  friend,  Samuel  Lock- 


THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

ling  ;  since,  having  T)een  bred  on  a  farm,  he  would 
make  a  very  good  farm-boy. 

So,  when  the  spring  opened,  the  family  left  the 
city  and  their  fashionable  friends,  and  went,  as  Mrs. 
Whiting  said,  to  "  live  in  the  back-woods."  The  vil 
lage  of  Elmwood  welcomed  them  with  springing 
flowers  and  budding  trees  ;  and  the  fresh  breeze 
kissed  their  cheeks,  as  Alice  said,  "  in  pity  for  their 
weary-heartedness."  The  old  house  had  been  well 
fitted  up,  and  a  neat  piazza  added  in  front.  Fred 
and  Alice  arrived  a  day  or  two  before  the  rest ; 
while  Mr.  Whiting  went  back  for  his  wife  and 
daughters.  Alice  was  delighted  with  every  thing  ; 
and  her  light  spirits  raised  Fred's  to  such  a  degree 
that  he  complimented  the  house  for  its  very  age  and 
picturesqueness,  and  said  the  arrangement  of  the 
furniture  was  very  tasteful. 

"  Yes ;  and,  Cousin  Fred,  don't  you  think  these 
pretty  Venetian  blinds  are  better  than  the  stiff  shades 
they  have  in  the  city  ?  "  said  Alice.  "  And  I  have 
had  honeysuckle  planted  to  run  over  the  piazza ; 
and  altogether  I  believe  its  going  to  be  charming. 
I  shall  enjoy  it !  Shant  you,  Fred  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Alice.  I  suppose  I  shall  in  time ; 
but  at  present  I  think  its  rather  dubious  enjoyment. 
There's  no  club,  and  no  lyceum,  and  no  society 
worth  looking  at."  . 

"  Why,  there's  Judge  Hall,  and  his  family.  They 
are  very  kind,  and  polished  too.  And  then,  cousin, 


AN    OFFER.  191 

you  must  forgive  me,  but  I  think  I'm  really  glad 
that  there  is  no  club  here.  It  took  so  much  of  your 
time.  You  will  talk  to  me  now  more,  and  we  can 
read  together  in  the  long  winter  evenings.  Wont 
that  be  better  than  the  club.  Say,  Fred,  shan't  you 
like  it  better  ?  " 

Fred  answered  the  question  with  a  half  pleased, 
half  puzzled  look.  "  Yes,  Alice,  I  suppose  I  shall  in 
time.  I  don't  mean  any  thing  uncomplimentary  ;  but 
then  women  can't  understand  these  things,  —  tisn't 
to  be  expected  they  will,  you  know." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Alice,  with  her  quiet  smile, 
which  vexed  Fred  more  than  a  hundred  words 
would  have  done.  "  I  would  not  dare  to  meddle 
with  the  weighty  matters  of  the  law." 

"  She  does  understand  me  too  well,"  thought 
Fred,  "and  thinks  I  am  a  useless,  selfish  article, 
labelled,  *  Frederic  Whiting,'  fit  only  for  holiday- 
dress  and  fair  weather." 

"  Come,  cousin,  I'm  going  to  be  your  doctor  out 
here,  and  I  think  a  long  face  an  unfavorable  symp 
tom.  Come,  I've  got  something  to  show  you."  Arid 
she  fairly  spirited  him  away  through  the  great 
kitchen  into  the  sitting-room,  and  finally  stopped  to 
take  breath  in  a  little  room  on  trie  west  side  of  the 
house,  which  looked  as  if  it  might  have  seen  service 
as  a  store-room.  But,  whatever  might  have  been  its 
unromantic  service  in  times  past,  it  was  evident  that 
busy  hands  had  been  at  work  there,  relieving  its 


192  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

plainness  by  little  arts  of  grace  and  refinement.  The 
apartment  scarcely  exceeded  the  limits  of  a  common 
sleeping-room ;  but  a  neat  carpet  covered  the  floor, 
a  pretty  centre-table  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  statues  and  vases  looked  out  from  every 
corner  like  reminders  of  "  auld  lang  syne."  Fred's 
eyes  lighted  with  a  genuine  pleasure.  "  Why, 
Alice,  this  is  delightful !  Who  fitted  it  up  ?  and 
what  is  it  for  ?  " 

"  It's  our  studio,  Fred.  I  remembered  the  room. 
The  Lees  used  it  as  a  clothes-room  :  but  I  teased 
Uncle  William  to  have  it  fitted  up  ;  and  I  was  here 
all  day  yesterday,  finishing  it,  and  now  it  only  lacks 
the  books." 

"  Dear  Alice  !  "  broke  in  Fred. 

"  No,  I'm  not  dear  at  all !  Every  thing  is  cheap 
in  the  country.  And  look  here,"  she  continued, 
throwing  up  the  sash,  "here  is  a  whole  bed  of 
English  violets ;  and  the  west  window  too.  Wont 
it  be  delightful  at  sunset  ?  " 

"  Every  thing  is  delightful  where  you  are,  Alice. 
You  make  me  ashamed  of  myself.  While  I  sit  with 
idle  hands,  railing  at  Fortune  for  her  ugly  freak, 
you  go  to  work  and  do  something  to  make  yourself 
and  other  people  happy.  And  yet  I  think  you  feel 
misfortune  as  much  as  1  do.  I  wish  I  had  your 
secret." 

The  gay  expression  of  her  face  sobered  in  a  mo 
ment.  Laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  she  said 


AN    OFFER.  193 

softly,  "  You  will  not  find  it  in  your  club  or  lyceum, 
Cousin  Fred ;  but  it  lies  deeper  down.  '  Trust  in 
the  Lord,  and  do  good.'  I  try  to  take  that  as  my 
rule.  But,  Fred," — and  the  old  brightness  came 
back  to  lip  and  brow,  —  "I  am  waiting  for  you  to 
help  me  unpack  the  books.  I  shall  have  to  help 
Content  with  the  supper  soon." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  do  any  such  thing,  Alice. 
I  don't  believe  there  is  any  need  of  coming  quite  so 
low  as  that." 

"  Oh,  I  love  to  !  "  said  Alice,  The  little  library 
looked  as  cozy  as  could  be,  when  they  had  finished, 
and  justified  Alice's  words  of  satisfaction. 

"  Just  enough  books  to  go  round,  Fijed ; "  and 
then  she  left  him  there,  till  the  bell  rang  for  tea. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE     OLD      HOMESTEAD. 

THE  gray  twilight  that  streamed  into  Alice's  win 
dow  the  next  morning  brought  to  her  mind  the 
thought  that  that  day  must  be  a  busy  one  for  her, 
since  the  rest  of  the  family  would  be  there  bv  noon. 
Many  arrangements  still  waited  to  be  worked  out  by 
her  busy  little  fingers ;  and,  long  before  Fred  and 
Content  were  stirring,  Alice  had  made  a  pilgrimage 
through  the  rooms,  to  see  that  every  thing  looked  as 
well  as  it  possibly  could,  and  to  put  a  finishing  touch 
here  and  there. 

She  passed  through  the  great  kitchen,  over  the 
yellow-painted  floor,  and,  safely  sliding  the  bolt  of 
the  back-door,  stood  in  the  open  air.  Those  who 
have  lived  in  the  country  know  that  a  breath  of 
country  morning  air  is  a  very  different  thing  from  the 
scarce  cooled  atmosphere  of  the  city.  For  a  moment 
Alice  felt  nothing  but  thankfulness  that  she  was  onoe 
more  under  the  broad  arching  skies,  and  permitted  to 
look  over  such  reaches  of  green  meadows.  The 
maples  were  just  putting  forth  their  leaves,  and  their 
shadows  fell  across  the  broad  walk  with  pleasant  cool 
ness.  The  old  well,  with  its  oaken  bucket  and 
moss-covered  sweep,  made  a  pretty  picture  in  the 
foreground.  And,  when  the  sun  showed  his  great 


THE    OLD    HOMESTEAD.  195 

face  above  the  horizon,  Alice  wondered  how  any  one 
who  could  live  in  the  country,  and  see  such  royal  pic 
tures  every  day,  would  choose  the  hot  city,,  with  its 
endless  restlessness,  and  "  noise  of  many  feet." 

She  left  the  door  open,  and  the  slant  sunbeams 
fell  into  the  old  kitchen,  lighting  up  the  huge  fire 
place  and  the  great  pine  table. 

Every  thing  there  was  as  neat  and  spotless  as  pains 
taking  could  make  it ;  for  Content  had  scoured  the 
tables  to  the  last  degree  of  brightness,  and  rubbed 
the  tin  until  it  shone  like  silver.  Alice  could  see 
nothing  to  be  improved  here.  Then  she  passed  on 
to  the  sitting-room.  She  tried  to  imagine  how  the 
sight  of  it  would  affect  her^aunt  and  cousins, — 
would  they  appreciate  all  the  efforts  that  had  been 
made  for  their  comfort  ?  There  were  the  pretty 
cane-seat  chairs,  and  the  neat  crimson  carpet,  covered 
with  flecks  of  sunshine  which  streamed  through  the 
half-open  blinds  Alice  had  admired  so  much.  Her 
aunt's  favorite  work-table  stood  in  the  corner;  and 
choice  vases,  shells,  and  pictures  ornamented  the 
mantel.  If  the  reom  could  have  been  improved,  it 
must  have  grown  brighter  beneath  the  look  of  lov 
ing  satisfaction  Alice  cast  upon  every  thing.  Just 
as  Content  came  down  into  the  kitchen,  Alice  sur 
prised  her  by  darting  like  a  young  fawn  through  the 
open  door,  out  upon  the  lawn  beneath  the  maples ; 
and,  before  she  had  done  wondering  what  could  be 
"  de  matter  wid  de  dear  chile,"  she  came  back, 


196  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

her  arms  filled  with  flowering  lilacs,  sprigs  of  hya 
cinth,  and  English  violets. 

"See,  Content,  I  am  going  to  fill  the  vases. 
Don't  you  think  it  will  make  the  room  look  more 
cheerful  ? " 

"  You  done  get  a  death  o'  cold,  Miss  Alice.  Jest 
look  at  dera  sleeves  !  " 

"  Oh !  it  don't  hurt  me,  Content.  What  are  you 
going  to  have  for  breakfast  ?  " 

Content  was  innocent  of  an  idea,  and  declared  she 
would  get  any  thing  Alice  ordered. 

"  What  is  there  in  the  house,  Content  ?  " 

"  Not  much  'count  of  any  thing,  honey.  Massa 
Whiting  done  got  few  tings,  an*  say  he  be  back 
pretty  soon." 

"  Well,  Content,  you  may  get  what  you  like  for 
breakfast,  and  I  will  go  and  arrange  for  dinner. 
Do  you  know,  Content,  that  they  will  be  here  by 
noon  ?  We  must  be  sure  and  have  a  good  dinner." 
She  turned  round,  and  saw  Fred  looking  sadly  at 
her. 

"  It's  too  bad,  Alice,  for  you  to  be  worried  about 
such  trifles." 

"  A  pretty  substantial  trifle,  however,"  she  re 
plied,  with  a  brightening  smile.  "  Come,  Fred,  I 
am  going  to  press  you  into  the  service,  and  get  you 
to  draw  some  water  from  the  old  well." 

Fred  made  a  wry  face,  but  went,  — so  hard  is  i' 
for  us  to  yield  inclination  to  duty. 


THE    OLD    HOMESTEAD.  197 

The  old  stage  was  sweeping  slowly  round  the 
bend.  Mrs.  Whiting  leaned  out  to  look  at  the 
house  her  husband  pointed  out.  "  See  there,  Emi 
ly,"  said  he,  "  some  friends  of  mine  live  there ; 
don't  you  think  it  is  a  pretty  place  ?  " 

"  "What  do  you  mean,  William  ?  I  hope  you  don't 
know  anybody  here.  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  make 
any  acquaintances." 

' '  No :  such  society  is  not  proper  for  genteel 
people,  who  have  been  used  to  the  highest  circles," 
said  Lizzie  scornfully. 

"  You  will  find,  my  daughter,  that  pride  some 
times  drinks  from  the  same  cup  with  disappoint 
ment.  That  is  our  home." 

lf  And  there  is  Alice  at  the  door,"  said  Ada. 

"  And  so  that's  where  we're  to  be  buried  alive,  is 
it?"  said  Mrs.  Whiting  petulantly,  as  she  threw 
herself  back  on  the  seat. 

"  That's  where  I  hope  we  shall  be  buried  away 
from  the  follies  of  fashionable  life,  Emily." 

The  kiss  which  Alice  received  from  her  uncle 
ought  to  have  satisfied  any  reasonable  demand  of 
affection ;  and  Alice  was  satisfied.  With  expectant 
eagerness  she  led  them  into  the"  cozy  sitting-room, 
and  relieved  them  of  their  heavy  travelling  apparel. 

"  I  believe  I  shall  like  it,"  said  Ada,  when  she  had 
taken  a  survey  of  the  room.  "  Why,  Alice,  where 
did  you  pick  up  that  white  apron  and  pink  ribbon ' 
You  look  like  a  rosebud,  poetically  speaking." 


198  THE    SHEAVES    OF   LOVE. 

"  Just  like  you,  Ada,"  said  Lizzie.  You  like 
every  thing  for  five  minutes.  You  never  would 
have  been  fit  for  society,  even  if  we  had  not  lost  our 
property.  You  have  a  shocking  mauvais  gout" 

"  I  think  it  is  a  little  bird's-nest  of  a  home,"  said 
Alice.  "  Mother  used  to  say  it  needed  only  a  happy 
home  and  a  contented  heart  to  make  up  the  sum  of 
human  enjoyment."  x 

tf  Remember  who  you  are  talking  to,"  said  Fred. 
"  Our  guests  are  leaders  of  the  ton,  and  with  them 
such  things  as  hearts  are  obsolete  articles." 

The  table  had  been  set  with  the  utmost  care,  and 
Alice  had  endeavored  to  arrange  it  so  that  her  aunt 
and  uncle  would  miss  nothing  to  which  they  had 
become  accustomed.  Even  Mrs.  Whiting's  face  lost 
some  of  its  gloominess,  when  she  saw  the  care  and 
taste  which  had  been  bestowed  upon  every  thing. 

The  afternoon  was  a  busy  one  for  all.  Mr.  Whit 
ing  went  over  the  farm  once  more,  and  speculated 
upon  its  resources. 

His  wife  abandoned  herself  to  the  headache  and 
her  sofa,  declaring  that  she  had  no  doubt  that  her 
ride  in  that  clumsy  old  stage  would  make  her  sick 
for  a  week. 

Even  our  old  friend  Sam  busied  himself  in 
making  himself  comfortable.  He  honored  the 
kitchen  with  his  presence,  much  to  the  annoyance  of 
Content.  There  he  sat  on  the  huge  wood-box,  his 
legs  dangling  over  the  sides,  and  his  great  hands 


.THE   OLD   HOMESTEAD.  199 

hanging  awkwardly  out  of  his  short  jacket  sleeves. 
He  was  furiously  whittling  a  pine  stick,  and  every 
now  and  then  winking  and  glancing  provokingly  at 
Content.. 

"  I  say,  'Tent,  jest  you  guess  what  I'm  making 
of  this  'ere." 

"  Dunno.  I  reckon  I  kin  'tend  to  my  own  'fairs," 
replied  Content,  with  haughty  displeasure. 

"  Wall,  seein'  as  its  a  friend,  I  guess  I'll  tell  ye. 
I've  jest  got  tired  o'  seein'  you  wear  them  cotton 
handkerchiefs,  an'  so  I'm  makin'  you  a  wooden 
comb  to  hold  up  the  tresses,  as  Liz  says.  I  say 
'Tent,"  he  added,  with  another  leer,  "why  didn't 
you  have  white  wool  ?  Its  a  mighty  sight  cleaner  - 
lookin'  than  black." 

"  Sam ! "  said  Alice  sternly,  coming  into  the  room 
just  as  he  dodged  a  blow  from  Content's  weighty 
palm. 

He  was  still  in  a  moment,  and  stood  with  open 
eyes  and  mouth,  staring  at  her,  as  if  she  had  been 
an  apparition.  Her  voice  only  had  an  influence 
over  him,  and  he  almost  dropped  the  knife  from  his 
hand  in  his  sudden  surprise. 

"  Have  you  done  all  the  chores,  Sam  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so,"  he  answered  sheepishly. 

"Have  you  sawed  the  wood,  as  Uncle  William 
told  you  ?  " 

"  I  done  jest  so,  miss." 

"  And  washed  the  carryall,  and  fed  the  horse  ?  " 


£00  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

"I  guess  like  enough." 

"  Then  go,  and  leave  Content,  if  you  cannot  stay 
here  without  troubling  her."  Sam  went,  glad  to  es 
cape  from  Alice's  eye,  which  seemed  to  read  his 
falsehood  through  and  through. 

"  Gorry  !  "  said  he,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "  I 
didn't  jist  mean  to  tell  that.  I  guess  it  comes 
natural  like  for  me  to  lie.  But  I  didn't  say  yes  or 
no  to  either  one  or  t'other." 

To  show  his  remorse,  Sam  performed  his  duties 
immediately. 

Alice  gave  Content  some  necessary  orders,  and 
then  went  up  to  her  room  to  rest  awhile.  But  the 
busy  brain  would  not  let  her  sleep.  She  puzzled 
over  problems  too  difficult  for  her  to  solve.  This 
life  they  had  commenced,  would  it  be  a  happy  one  ? 
Her  uncle  knew  nothing  about  farming.  He  had  no 
income.  How  were  they  to  live  ?  She  started  at 
her  own  thoughts,  thinking  that  she  had  been  ques 
tioning  of  matters  over  which  she  had  no  control ; 
and  she  resolved  she  would  no  longer  distress  her 
self  with  such  gloomy  forebodings. 

Little  did  the  family  dream,  as  time  passed  on,  of 
the  cares  and  responsibility  which  Alice  took 
upon  herself,  —  little  of  the  petty  vexations -which 
were  mastered  by  her  patience.  Content  knew 
absolutely  nothing  of  domestic  economy.  She 
conducted  the  cooking  with  her  usual  extrava 
gance.  And  all  Alice's  eloquence  was  required 


THE   OLD   HOMESTEAD.  201 

to  give  her  an  idea  of  the  altered  circumstances  of 
the  family. 

The  arrangement  of  the  table  devolved  on  Alice 
also.  She  was  scrupulous  that  no  change  should  be 
perceived  here.  How  differently  each  one  regarded 
her  as  she  performed  these  little  household  duties  ! 
Fred  would  look  at  her  sadly,  wondering  at  that 
cheerful  patience  which  he  could  not  understand  ; 
yet  contenting  himself  the  while  in  a  state  of  half 
apathy,  too  much  occupied  with  his  own  misfortunes 
to  think  of  being  of  any  active  use. 

Spring  lengthened  into  summer.  The  farm  had 
been  well  stocked,  and,  with  the  help  of  a  reliable, 
practical  hired  man,  and  Mr.  Whiting's  scientific 
knowledge,  well  cultivated.  But  pride  and  idleness 
x  are  poor  inmates  of  a  farm-house.  If  willing  hands 
had  joined  to  make  each  burden  light,  there  would 
have  been  some  hope  of  happy  success.  As  it  was, 
the  cost  of  the  family  was  great,  —  more  than  all  Mr. 
Whiting  could  realize  from  his  land.  Alice 
sighed  to  herself,  as  she  watched  the  lines  of 
his  face  growing  deeper  and  deeper.  He  was 
working  too  hard,  that  was  plain ;  but  never 
a  word  of  complaint  passed  his  lips.  Mrs.  Whiting 
thought  herself  aggrieved  in  having  to  live  out 
of  the  world,  and  spent  her  time  either  in 
fashionable  indolence  or  useless  embroidery.  "  It 
was  natural,"  she  said,  "  for  Alice  to  like  house 
work  ;  she  had  been  born  to  it.  It  was  as  natural 
9* 


202  THE   SHEAVES   OF   LOVE. 

for  her  to  handle  the  broom  as  for  Lizzie  to  play 
the  piano." 

It  was  a  hot  August  evening.  The  air  had  been 
somewhat  cooled  by  a  heavy  shower,  and  every  leaf 
and  twig  glittered  in  the  moonbeams.  Alice  walked 
back  from  the  old  kitchen  door,  where  she  had  been 
gazing  out,  recalling  old  memories,  and  took  a  seat 
in  the  sitting-room.  Her  heart  was  softened,  and 
her  eyes  heavy  with  unshed  tears. 

Mr.  Whiting  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand  des- 
pondingly.  "  Wife,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  we  shall 
have  to  curtail." 

"  How,  for  mercy's  sake  ?  "  said  the  lady  dryly. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  he  replied ;  "  but  it 
must  be  done.  There's  the  land  hardly  will  bring 
me  in  any  thing.  It  won't  more  than  support  us, 
letting  alone  selling  any  thing." 

"  But  there's  the  railroad  stock,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Whiting. 

"  A  dead  loss  almost,"  replied  her  husband.  "  It 
wont  probably  bring  more  than  twenty  cents  on  a 
dollar." 

sl  Oh,  dear !  "  groaned  the  lady.  "  William,  what 
do  you  trouble  me  with  these  petty  things  for  ? 
And  my  health  so  miserable  !  " 

Alice  could  see  the  fire  flash  into  her  uncle's 
eyes,  and  then  die  out  again  in  his  effort  for  self- 
control. 

"Do  you  find  it  so  hard  to  hear  them,  Emily? 


THE    OLD    HOMESTEAD.  203 

What  would  you  do  if  you  had  to  meet  and  bear 
them  ?  " 

"  Goodness  knows,  it  would  kill  me !  I  am 
almost  dead  now.  I  miss  my  maid  so  much.  I 
was  thinking  only  yesterday  I  would  ask  you  to 
send  to  the  city  for  one." 

1 '  Impossible,  Emily.  I  tell  you  these  money 
cares  are  tightening  their  grasp. upon  me  every  day. 
Unless  something  comes  to  relieve  me,  we  shall  be 
completely  ruined." 

"  We  are  that  now,"  said  his  wife.  "  We  couldn't 
be  worse  off." 

Mr.  Whiting  thought  very  bitterly  of  what  worse 
thing  might  come,  but  said  nothing. 

Lizzie,  Ada,  and  Fred  talked  apart.  Lizzie  was 
eloquent  in  praise  of  a  new  acquaintance  named 
Henri  Claremont.  She  declared  she  had  not  seen 
such  style  and  grace  since  she  left  New  York ;  while 
Fred  protested  that  he  was  a  humbug,  and  told  his 
sister  that  if  he  had  set  his  net  for  flies  he  wouldn't 
take  up  with  a  gnat.  Lizzie  said  he  had  promised  to 
call  upon  her  soon.  But  she  did  not  tell  Fred  that 
she  had  allowed  her  new  friend  to  believe  her  father 
was  an  odd  old  gentleman,  very  rich,  who  lived 
in  the  country  during  the  warm  season. 

Mr.  Whiting  did  not  seem  to  hear  any  thing. 
He  still  sat  looking  dreamily  upon  the  floor.  Alice 
went  over  to  his  chair,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
arm. 


£04  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE, 

"  Uncle  "William,  perhaps,  —  I  meant  to  say,  may 
be  I  might  do  something  !  " 

Mr.  Whiting  smiled  incredulously,  but  drew  Alice 
nearer.  "You  have  heard  the  story  of  the  poor 
prisoner,"  said  he,  "whose  dungeon  walls  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  every  day  until  they  crushed  him. 
I  am  just  such  a  prisoner." 

"  No,  uncle  ;  for  you  have  hope." 

"  It  is  a  forlorn  hope,  child." 

"  Dear  uncle,"  said  Alice,  putting  her  arm  around 
his  neck,  "  you  know  poor  help  is  better  than  none ; 
and  oftentimes  the  weakest  hand  may  raise  a  burden. 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  my  plan.  Miss  Newton  has 
offered  me  a  situation  as  assistant  in  the  seminary. 
Now,  uncle,  you  know  it  will  not  take  a  great  deal 
of  my  time ;  besides,  I  love  to  teach,  and  should 
like  to  help  you.  It  will  not  be  much,  to  be  sure ; 
but  it  shall  all  be  yours." 

Mr.  Whiting's  face  grew  strangely  agitated. 
Strong  passion  was  there,  touched  with  kindly 
sympathy  and  love,  as  if  the  depths  of  that  manly 
soul  were  being  broken  up,  and  the  faith  which  still 
lay  deeply  underlying  it  were  streaming  out,  glorify 
ing  the  face,  till  it  shone  with  peaceful  beauty. 
Alice  had  never  seen  him  look  so  before. 

"My  own  little  Alice,"  he  said,  "where  will 
your  self-sacrifice  end  ?  Truly  God  has  blest  me 
more  than  I  deserve.  I  know  it  all,  my  child.  May 
God  bless  you !  " 


THE   OLD   HOMESTEAD.  205 

"  What  is  it  you  mean,  uncle  ?  "  said  Alice,  with 
filling  eyes. 

"  I  mean,  Alice,  that  I  was  poor,  and  now  am 
rich  ;  for  I  have  found  a  grateful  and  unselfish 
child.  Mrs.  Gushing  told  me  all.  So  you  love  your 
Uncle  William  well  enough  to  give  up  wealth  and 
ease  to  live  with  him  in  poverty." 

How  is  it,  that  sometimes  a  thrill  of  electric  sym 
pathy  will  pass  from  soul  to  soul  through  the  me 
dium  of  a  single  wore!  ?  Mr.  Whiting  stretched 
out  his  arms,  and  Alice  came  to  them,  and  said 
softly,  with  a  soulful  look,  "Uncle."  But  in  that 
one  word  was  expressed  patience  and  hope  and  an 
earnest  love. 

"Alice,"  said  he,  when  they  had  sat  silent  for 
some  time,  "  what  prevented  you  from  going  with 
Mrs.  Gushing  ?  " 

"  Duty." 

"  Who  told  you  your  duty  ? " 

"I  asked  of  our  Father  a  knowledge  of  the  right 
way." 

"  Why  don't  he  tell  me  my  duty,  Alice  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  his  words,  uncle  ?  — '  Every 
one  that  asketh  receiveth.' " 

"  But  why  don't  he  show  us  the  right,  so  that 
none  could  go  astray  ?  He  could  make  us  what  he 
would,  and  compel  us  to  do  right." 

"  I  don't  know,  uncle.  I  suppose  he  means  that 
we  should  earn  the  gifts  he  sends.  Our  virtues 


206  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

would  not  be  of  so  much  value  to  us  if  God  gave 
them  without  our  working." 

tf  So  then  you  have  earned  your  virtues,  Alice  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Whiting;  with  a  return  of  his  natural  play 
fulness.  "  But,  Alice,  you  told  me  once  that  self- 
denial  was  duty,  and  only  in  duty  could  we  find 
happiness.  Now,  can  we  be  happy  to  be  always 
warring  against  our  own  natures  ?  and  can  God  be 
good  to  require  it  of  us  ?  " 

Alice  looked  distressed.  She  did  not  like  to 
parade  her  knowledge,  yet  she  longed  to  convince 
her  uncle  of  the  truth  of  that  gospel  he  held  so 
lightly. 

"  Dear  Uncle  William,  I  am  a  child,  almost. 
Pray  read  for  yourself.  No  one  can  do  His  work 
till  they  have  learned  to  love  Him." 

"  But,  Alice,"  said  Mr.  Whiting,  eager  to  know 
the  reason  of  her  faith,  "  I  have  never  seen  God, 
and  how  can  I  love  him?  We  love  our  friends 
because  we  see  them  before  us,  and  we  are  always 
working  for  them,  and  they  for  us  ;  and  we  can  tell 
them  of  our  love." 

Was  it  the  soft  ray  of  moonlight  which  stole  in  at 
the  open  door  which  gave  that  uplifted  face  such  a 
brightness,  or  was  it  the  inner  light  of  a  great  truth  ? 

"  That  is  just  the  reason  we  love  Him,  Uncle 
William,  because  he  is  working  for  us,  and  we  for 
him.  When  we  open  our  eyes,  and  are  willing  to 
trust  him,  then  he  sends  his  light  to  show  us  the 


THE   OLD    HOMESTEAD.  207 

work  he  has  given  us  to  do.  O  uncle  !  is  it  not  a 
glorious  thought  that  we  can  be  co-workers  with  him  ? 
that  in  the  great  world  we  may  give  help  to  His 
children,  if  it  be  but  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  a  disci 
ple  ?  And  don't  we  —  wouldn't  you  —  love  a  being 
who  is  all  light  and  perfection,  even  if  we  cannot  see 
him  ?  He  is  the  vision  of  our  own  souls.  The  more 
we  love  and  hope  and  trust,  the  higher  and  purer 
we  shall  view  God,  the  nearer  we  shall  be  like  him." 

She  hung  her  head,  abashed,  like  a  startled  fawn, 
and  then  stole  one  glance  at  her  uncle's  face.  He 
was  looking  intently  at  her,  half  awed  by  the  force 
and  power  of  her  words.  They  were  sitting  alone 
in  the  room,  and  the  candle  had  burned  to  that 
socket,  but  through  the  shimmering  moonlight  Alice 
thought  she  saw  a  tear  on  his  face.  She  slipped 
from  his  arms,  and  he  released  her  without  a  word. 
He  seemed  to  have  lost  all  thought  of  her  in  the 
greatness  of  the  thought  she  had  left  him. 

Oh !  how  near  to  us  all  lie  the  gates  of  the  Here 
after  of  Light !  Mr.  Whiting's  soul  lay  in  the  dark 
shadow  of  unbelief;  but  the  hand  of  a  girl  had 
turned  it  backward,  and  given  him  a  glimpse  of  the 
inner  glory.  Alice  would  have  been  frightened, 
had  she  known  the  extent  of  her  influence  over  her 
uncle.  Perhaps  she  had  indeed  given  a  cup  of  cold 
water  to  a  thirsty  soul. 

Long  after  Alice  lay  wrapped  in  peaceful  slumber, 
Mr.  Whiting  paced  to  and  fro  in  the  desolate  sitting- 


£08  THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

room.  He  was  studying  that  great  problem  of  life, 
which,  once  solved,  gives  us  the  key  to  a  wider  and 

a  better  future.     He   saw  men  and  the  world  as  a 

f 

shadow,  a  past  dream,  and  himself  standing  alone,  — 
a  soul  to  be  drawn  upward  into  that  good  which  he 
dimly  comprehended  as  a  light  streaming  down  from 
above;  and  through  all  the  dream  the  form  of 
Alice  seemed  floating  upward  with  beckoning  finger, 
till  she  was  lost  in  the  brightness. 


CHAPTER    XXm. 

THE   NEW   ACQUAINTANCE. FRED'S   RESOLVE. 

"  CAN  you  fasten  my  horse  anywhere  here,  boy  ?  " 
said  a  tall,  foreign-looking  gentleman,  as  he  alighted 
'at  the  farm-house  steps. 

Sam,  lost  in  amazement  at  this  sudden  apparition 
of  gentility,  stood  silent,  with  open  eyes  and  mouth, 
regarding  the  stranger  with  curious  coolness. 

The  gentleman  repeated  his  question. 

"  Guess  you  don't  belong  round  here  anywhere, 
do  you  ?  From  New  York,  mebbe  ?  "  said  Sam, 
answering  the  question  by  asking  another  in  true 
Yankee  fashion. 

His  listener  turned  haughtily  away,  and  ascended 
the  steps,  while  Sam  proceeded  to  tie  the  horse  in 
the  most  awkward  manner,  by  putting  a  rope  round 
his  neck,  and  then  fastening  it  to  a  post.  And  just 
as  Lizzie,  all  smiles  and  bows,  came  down  to  meet 
her  visitor,  Sam  was  dancing  round  the  post,  full  of 
mischief  and  joy  at  having  tied  a  knot  which  no 
mortal  but  himself  could  undo. 

Henri  Claremont  was  a  gentlemanly  looking  per 
son,  tall  and  dark  complexioned ;  and  altogether  such 
a  one  as  would  be  likely  to  attract  any  young  girl 
who  loved  show  and  romance  and  knightly  manners. 
In  dress  he  was  faultless  ;  and  his  honied  speech  and 


210  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

flattering  attentions,  it  could  be  plainly  seen, 
given  him  a  large  place  in  Lizzie's  favor.  His  dark 
hair  fell  in  jetty  ringlets  around  his  neck;  and  a 
spotless  collar,  turned  over  a  la  Byron,  gave  him  an 
air  of  jaunty  freedom  not  at  all  unbecoming. 

Alice  had  been  at  work  in  her  gar-den,  and  as  she 
came  in  at  the  back  door  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
visitor.  Hastily  putting  off  her  gardening  gloves, 
she  went  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Content,  what  are  you  going  to  have  for  din 
ner  ?  We  shall  have  company." 

Content  raised  her  eyebrows  curiously,  and  said 
she  was  going  to  have  hashed  meat. 

Alice  smiled.  "  What  else  have  you  in  the  house, 
'Tenty  ?  Couldn't  you  make  one  of  those  French 
puddings  we  used  to  have?  You  have  plenty  of 
eggs,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"Heaps  on  'em." 

Alice  threw  on  her  sunbonnet,  and,  taking  the 
egg-basket  from  its  peg,  went  out  to  hunt  eggs 
among  the  old  roads  and  haymows.  The  basket 
hung  lightly  upon  her  arm, — so  lightly  that  she 
forgot  its  presence,  and  began  thinking  about  past 
scenes  and  old  friends  and  happy  egg-huntings  of 
long  ago.  The  hot  summer  sun  looked  down  ou 
ripening  grain  and  mellow  fruit,  the  air  was  vocal 
with  the  hum  of  insects ;  and  Alice's  heart  warmed 
with  happy  feeling  like  the  summer  glow  of  nature. 
A  sense  of  perfect  rest  came  over  her,  —  a  feeling 


THE    NEW   ACQUAINTANCE. 

of  great  freedom.  She  was  in  the  open  fields,  with 
only  the  sky  overhead ;  there  was  nothing  to  bind 
her.  Was  she  not  a  child  again  ?  The  sweet  clover 
blossoms  looked  up  at  her  as  they  did  when  she 
wove  chaplets  of  their  white  and  red  blooms ;  the 
birds  sang  the  same  old  tunes.  Was  she  not  the 
same  little  child  who  once  made  the  fields  her  play 
ground,  and  the  birds  and  flowers  her  companions  ? 
So  Alice  thought,  until  her  brow  grew  serious  as 
she  realized  how  far  she  had  travelled  from  the  trust 
ing  confidence  of  childhood.  Ah !  the  childish 
brook  becomes  the  deep  river  of  womanhood;  the 
waters  which  gushed  so  free  then  have  now  learned 
the  rocks  and  shallows  of  the  life-stream,  and  their 
singing  is  softened  into  a  deep  and  serious  mur 
mur. 

So  Alice  thought  as  she  sauntered  on  through  the 
garden  gate.  "  I  am  a  woman  indeed,"  said  she 
aloud.  "  I  have  learned  to  be  prudent,  worldly, 
where  once  I  only  loved  and  confided.  And -yet  the 
Word  says,  '  Except  ye  become  as  little  children,  ye 
shall  in  no  wise  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven.'  *: 

She  repeated  the  text  over  and  over  again  as  she 
passed  along,  meditating  upon  its  beautiful  sim 
plicity.  A  voice  aroused  her. 

"  Miss  Morton,  may  I  have  the  pleasure  of  carry 
ing  your  basket  ?  " 

The  basket  served  as  a  link  between  the  past  and 
present.  Alice  recollected  herself,  and  became  sud- 


THE   SHEAVES    OF   LOVE. 

denly  aware  that  a  pair  of  brown,  eyes  were  looking 
intently  on  her  face. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Hall,"  she  answered  with  some 
embarrassment.  "  I  believe  rny  thoughts  have  lite 
rally  run  away  with  me.  I  came  out  to  hunt  eggs, 
and  have  thought  myself  away  out  here." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  taking  her  basket  with  a  grave 
look,  "  I  believe  I  shall  have  to  arrest  you  for 
trespassing.  Did  you  know  that  this  is  father's 
meadow  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not.  You  will  not  enforce  the  law 
where  there  is  ignorance  of  it,"  said  Alice  play 
fully. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  in  this  case.  I  want  you  to 
walk  up  to  the  house  with  me.  Come,  will  "you 
not  ? " 

"Not  to-day,  Mr.  Hall." 

"  But  do  you  know  our  family  think  it  very 
strange  you  come  to  see  us  so  seldom?  Father 
talks  about  it  nearly  every  day." 

"It  seems,  then,  that  the  old  adage,  'out  of 
sight  out  of  mind,'  does  not  hold  good  here.  I  am 
glad  I  have  so  many  good  friends." 

"  You  have  a  great  many,  I  am  sure,"  said  Ed 
ward,  in  a  tone  that  made  Alice  uncomfortable,  it 
was  so  very  significant. 

Edward  declared  himself  perfectly  at  leisure,  and 
in  love  with  the  romantic  business  of  egg-hunting, 
basket  was  full  to  the  brim;  and  they  had 


TH?   NEW    ACQUAINTANCE.  213 

almost  reached  the  farm  gate,  when  Edward,  turn 
ing  his  face  towards  her,  wistfully  said,  — 

"  Will  you  not  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me  how 
you  understand  the  passage  you  were  repeating 
when  I  met  you  1  " 

Alice  remembered  blushingly  that  she  had  been 
thinking  aloud.  She  was  silent. 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  ask  too  much,"  said  Edward. 
"But  I  have  been  much  troubled  to  find  a  satis 
factory  meaning  to  that  phrase.  Is  it  not  our  duty 
to  help  one  another  in  the  pursuit  of  truth  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  urge  my  ignorance  and  your  wisdom, 
Mr.  Hall ;  but,  if  my  poor  opinion  can  avail  you, 
you  shall  have  it.  But,  first,  you  must  tell  me 
where  you  think  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  ?  " 

"  I  have  always  considered  it  the  scene  of  our 
future  life,  —  the  presence  of  God  and  his  angels." 

"  Then  my  explanation  will  be  vain.  I  do  not  so 
consider." 

"  Where  do  you  think  it  is  ?  "  said  Edward. 

"  Within  you.  We  need  not  wait  for  a  future 
world  to  be  in  the  presence  of  God.  Now  this 
kingdom  is  promised  not  to  the  proud,  but  to  the 
poor  in  spirit.,  The  rich,  the  haughty,  must  hum 
ble  themselves,  must  become  as  a  child,  before  they 
can  enter  it.  It  was  that  I  was  thinking  of  this 
morning.  How  hard  it  is,  with  our  trials,  our  ex 
periences,  our  idols,  to  keep  the  heart  open  and 
pure,  to  still  be  meek  and  trustful  as  a  child !  " 


£14  THE   SHEAVES   OF   LOVE. 

"Is  it  possible  to  be  that?"  said  Edward,  in  a 
low  tone. 

"  Not  without  help :  but  the  divine  Alchemist 
can  turn  even  selfishness  to  the  pure  gold  of  virtue ; 
and  the  failing  props  of  the  world  teach  us  faith  and 
childlike  trust  in  our  Father.  That  is  the  way  I 
understand  it.  Doubtless  it  is  a  childish  way."  , 

"  The  very  reason  why  it  should  be  the  best  way," 
said  Edward.  "  Thank  you,  Miss  Morton.  You 
have  rendered  me  no  common  service.  I  never 
seemed  to  realize  it  before." 

He  declined  entering  the  house,  but  stood  at  the 
gate,  watching  her,  till  she  was  out  of  sight  in  the 
turnings  of  the  path. 

"  Truly,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven." 

"  What  a  pity,"  thought  Alice,  "  that  such  a 
noble  student  leaves  out  of  his  library  the  best  of  all 
works ! " 

The  dinner  proved  to  be  all  that  was  expected, 
with  the  addition  of  some  fine  trout,  the  product  of 
Fred's  morning  sport.  Mr.  Whiting  looked  serious ; 
and  Fred's  brow  was  ominously  overcast  at  sight  of 
their  visitor.  He  conducted  himself,  as  Lizzie  said, 
with  "  graceful  elegance ;  "  though  Ada  and  Alice 
both  thought  his  manners  a  little  affected.  Mr. 
Whiting  talked  with  Lizzie  a  long  time  after  his  de 
parture.  He  saw  too  late  his  failure  in  duty,  and 
endeavored  to  atone  for  it  by  grave  and  earnest 


FRED'S  RESOLVE.  215 

counsel  and  fatherly  advice.  Lizzie  listened  weari 
ly,  as  if  she  thought  it  all  very  dull,  and  assured 
her  father  repeatedly  that  she  cared  nothing  for  Henri 
Claremont,  save  as  a  friend  and  a  fashionable  acquaint 
ance.  Still  her  father  left  her  with  a  heavy  heart. 

And  so  week  after  week  passed  away,  and 
Autumn  was  drawing  near.  The  fields  stood  yellow 
with  golden  corn,  the  orchards  were  dropping  with 
golden  fruit.  A  comfortable  home  they  had,  with 
every  immediate  necessity  ;  but  those  numberless 
little  wants,  which  only  money  can  supply,  were 
lacking.  The  fashionable  garments  were  replaced 
by  the  plainest  home-made  goods.  Even  Mrs. 
Whiting,  seeing  how  her  hi*sband  and  children  ex 
erted  themselves,  seemed  roused  to  a  feeling  of 
interest,  and  used  her  needle  to  better  advantage 
than  in  embroidery.  But,  for  all  this,  the  winter 
was  approaching.  The  family  was  large,  and  Alice 
saw  with  anxiety  that  her  uncle  grew  paler,  and 
more  thoughtful  than  ever. 

From  time  to  time  she  heard  from  Ellen  Lee. 
Rumor  said  she  was  a  ie  splendid  teacher,"  who  was 
in  herself  a  demonstration  of  the  great  law  of  kind 
ness,  Charles  was  still  in  Italy,  filling  out  copies 
of  great  pictures  for  American  gentlemen,  and  en 
riching  his  mind  by  the  study  of  the  noblest  artists. 
Every  word  which  Alice  dropped  concerning  his 
success  and  genius  made  Fred  sigh,  and  put  him 
into  a  profound  revery. 


216  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

The  •warm  rays  of  the  September  sun  stole  in 
through  the  open  door,  and  streamed  across  the 
sitting-room.  Fred  sat  and  looked  dreamily  at 
Alice,  as,  with  the  sunshine  playing  round  her 
fingers,  she  stitched  nimbly  away  at  her  work,  mov 
ing  her  lips  at  intervals,  as  if  to  recall  a  lost  passage 
or  forgotten  text. 

"  "What  are  you  doing,  Cousin  Alice  ?  " 

"  Nothing  very  romantic,  Fred.  I  am  mending 
a  stocking." 

"  But  I  should  think,  when  a  stocking  came  to 
that  pass,  it  was  time  it  was  thrown  away." 

"  Perhaps  so,  for  rich  folks  like  you,"  said  Alice, 
with  a  curious  smile ;  "  but  we  must  either  patch 
them  or  take  the  other  alternative." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  Wearing  them  with  holes  in  them." 

Fred  drummed  his  foot  on  the  floor,  and  said 
nothing,  though  Alice  felt  sure  a  storm  of  feeling 
would  succeed  the  calm.  It  came  at  last. 

"  It's  a  shame,  Alice,  —  a  downright  shame,  —  for 
people  to  be  so  fettered  by  poverty.  Just  the  lack  of 
a  few  dollars,  that  we  would  have  thrown  away  a  year 
ago.  There  is  no  chance  for  either  of  us  ever  doing 
any  thing  or  being  anybody.  I  say  there's  no  com 
fort  in  such  a  life."  And  Fred  got  up  and  walked 
with  rapid  strides  around  the  room. 

"  No  comfort,  perhaps,  but  much  healthful  dis 
cipline." 


FRED'S  RESOLVE.  217 

"  But  who  wants  to  be  disciplining  for  ever.  It 
may  benefit  you,  but  it  don't  me  one  bit." 

"  You  do  not  know  yourself,  Cousin  Fred.  "You 
are  not  the  same  being  now  that  you  were  one  year 
ago." 

"  That's  a  fact.  I  am  minus  money,  prospects, 
friends,  and  every  thing  else." 

Alice  said  nothing,  preferring  to  let  this  morbid 
feeling  expend  itself.  He  stopped  in  his  walk,  and 
came  and  looked  over  her  shoulder.  A  German 
grammar  lay  open  upon  her  lap. 

"  Pray,  are  you  studying  and  sewing  at  the  same 
time  ?  I  do  not  believe  there  ever  was  such  perse- 
verence." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Do  you  forget  Charlotte  Bronte,  learn 
ing  her  German  with  her  grammar  elevated  above 
the  kneading-trough  ?  " 

Fred  shut  his  lips  tightly,  determining  for  once 
to  control  himself.  Finally  he  drew  an  ottoman  to 
Alice's  side,  and  looked  up  gravely  into  her  face- 
"  Do  not  think  I  have  not  seen  your  anxiety  and 
father's  embarrassment,  —  they  have  sunk  deep  into 
my  heart ;  and  now  I  think  for  me  to  stay  here 
longer  would  be  almost  a  crime.  I  am  going  away, 
Alice.  Judge  Hall  has  offered  to  place  me  in  a  law- 
office  in  New  York.  So  I  shall  give  up  my  hopes 
of  college,  and  study  hard  for  excellence.  Edward 
strongly  urged  this  course ;  and  the  judge  said 
the  best  college  was  the  world,  and  the  highest 
10 


218  THE   SHEAVES  OF   LOVE. 

diploma  a  noble  countenance,  written  by  God's  owu 
hand  in  lines  of  truth  and  honor." 

Fred's  face  shone  with  the  old  generous  light. 
No  one  would  have  called  him  moody  or  passive 
then.  Alice  looked  thoughtful ;  and,  when  she  an 
swered,  she  spoke  indirectly,  — 

' '  Fred,  you  are  richer  than  you  ever  were  before. 
You  are  willing  to  go  into  life,  and  take  honor  and 
integrity  for  your  companions.  Thank  God,  my 
dear  cousin,  that  your  loss  has  proved  gain ;  and 
that  it  came  before  flattery  had  enervated  you,  or  con 
ceit  wholly  robbed  you  of  manly  truth  and  honor." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FASHIONABLE      EDUCATION. 

AND  so  Fred  went  to  the  law-office,  and  Alice  en 
tered  the  seminary  at  the  beginning  of  the  next 
quarter.  She  might  have  missed  the  society  of  her 
sprightly  cousin,  had  not  new  duties  occupied  every 
thought,  and  new  faces  awakened  her  interest.  The 
young  children  at  the  seminary  learned  to  love  her, 
as  indeed  did  all  who  came  within  her  influence. 
But,  most  of  all,  the  childish  confidence  of  Nina 
Hall  endeared  her  to  the  heart  of  her  young  teacher. 
She  was  Nina's  oracle,  —  every  thing  she  said  or  did 
was  perfect  in  Nina's  eyes  ;  and  she  would  sit  for 
hours  gazing  upon  Alice's  face,  with  a  mingled  look 
of  love  and  reverence,  watching  her  as  she  told  the 
children  of  nature  or  of  God. 

Not  unfrequently  Nina  would  come  to  school 
with  her  hands  filled  with  autumn  flowers,  —  some 
times  her  own  .gift,  and  sometimes  from  "  Brother 
Edwaid."  And  not  seldom  did  Edward  manage 
to  stray  out  of  his  way,  though  these  strayings 
always  brought  him  to  the  seminary  gate  at  the  close 
of  the  session. 

"We  have  not  mentioned  Ada  since  the  failure.  It 
is  because  her  heart  and  mind  have  been  so  steadily 
improving.  She  needed  no  attention.  Ada's  mind 


220  THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

always  followed  the  leadings  of  the  strongest  influ 
ence  around  it.  Once  she  had  yielded  to  Lizzie's 
flattery  and  folly;  now  Alice  had  regained  her 
power  over  her,  and  almost  moulded  her  anew.  It 
is  a  misfortune  of  such  minds  that  they  are  so  im 
pressible.  They  are  like  the  water,  which  is  mobile 
and  limpid  of  itself,  but  which  will  take  the  form  of 
any  vessel  which  contains  it.  Happy  was  it  for  Ada 
that  a  good  and  pure  life  was  being  worked  out 
before  her,  that  she  might  shape  her  conduct  after 
its  excellent  virtues.  Lizzie  looked  on  scornfully 
when  Ada  listened  to  Alice's  f '  preaching,"  as  she 
called  it.  Ah!  there  was  no  danger  of  Lizzie. 
Her  education  had  been  too  complete  to  allow  of 
change. 

October  began  to  drop  its  golden  leaves  upon  the 
brown  earth,  and  the  nuts  had  opened  in  the  forests. 
The  farm-house  doors  no  longer  stood  open  all  day 
long,  but  only  unclosed  to  admit  the  warm  afternoon 
sunshine.  On  one  of  these  warm  afternoons,  the 
gentleman  with  the  foreign  air  descended  the  farm 
house  steps,  and  sought  his  horse,  which  as  usual 
Sam  had  tied  in  a  double-and-twisted  Yankdfc  knot. 
Just  as  Sam  dodged  a  blow  from  the  heavy  riding- 
whip,  a  paper  fluttered  down,  and  fell  at  the  horse's 
feet. 

"  "What  are  you  stooping  there  for,  you  rascal  ?  " 
"  I  jest  wanted  to  see  if  that  hoss's  hoofs  wan't 
gettin'  rusty ! " 


FASHIONABLE   EDUCATION. 

The  paper  was  safe  in  Sam's  pocket.  Half  an 
hour  had  not  elapsed  ere  Sam  saw  the  stranger  com 
ing  rapidly  down  the  road. 

"  Here,  you  little  rascal !  "  said  he,  vaulting  off 
his  horse.  "  Have  you  seen  any  thing  of  a  piece 
of  white  paper  ?  " 

Sam  gave  ^spring,  and  alighted  astride  the  farm 
fence,  and  eyed  the  stranger  very  coolly.  "  Why,, 
have  you  lost  one  ?  " 

"  I  don't  choose  to  converse  with  menials,"  he 
replied,  with  dignity.  ff  Answer  me,  —  yes  or  no." 

"Well,"  said  Sam,  "  mebbe  yes,  and'mebbe  no. 
Seenls  to  me  I  did  see  suthin'  like  a  scrap  o'  paper. 
'Twan't  very  white,  though." 

"  Where  is  it  ?  —  give  it  to  me,"  said  the  other 
eagerly. 

"  I  don't  know.     Didn't  say's  I  did,  did  I  ?  " 

Sam  suddenly  turned  a  somersault,  and  landed  in 

a  ball  on  the  grass,  out  of  reach  of  the  stranger's 

whip.     Henri  Claremont  turned  his  horse  angrily, 

but  soon  returned  again,  urged  by  some  mysterious 

""  impulse. 

"  Here,  you  boy,"  said  he.  "  If  you  don't  tell 
me  where  that  paper  is,  I'll  have  you  cut  up  by 
inches,  and  skinned  alive." 

Coming  close  up  to  the  fence,  though  still  cau 
tiously  avoiding  the  whip,  Sam  said,  in  a  low,  confi 
dential  tone,  "  Supposin*  now,  stranger,  you  was  a 
gentleman,  and  I  was  another,  and  you  should  give 


THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

me  that  gold  ring  on  your  finger,  and  I  should  give 
you  that  paper,  —  only  supposing  —  would  ye  do 
it?" 

At  first  the  stranger  only  seemed  beside  himself 
with  indignation  at  the  fellow's  impudence.  But 
his  desire  for  the  paper  overcame  every  thing  else ; 
and  he  promised  the  ring,  which  Saan,  with  true 
Yankee  spirit,  demanded  and  received  first.  He 
then  searched  in  his  long  trousers'  pocket,  and  drew 
up  a  piece  of  soiled  and  crumpled  paper,  which  he 
put  into  the  stranger's  hand. 

"  This  isn't  the  one  I  want.  The  one  I  want  has 
writing  on  it." 

"  Guess  I  haven't  seen  that  one.  I  happened  to 
see  this  stickin'  up  in  the  grass,  and  thought  mebbe 
it  might  be  yourn."  And  Sam,  with  the  ring  on 
his  finger,  and  the  real  paper  safe  in  his  pocket,  dis 
appeared  in  the  shrubbery  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
leaving  his  angry  and  discomfited  friend  to  digest 
his  rage  as  best  he  might. 

About  a  week  after  the  above  occurrence,  as  Alice 
returned  through  the  twilight  of  the  now  chilly  even 
ing,  she  encountered  Sam,  who  seemed  desirous  of 
speaking  to  her.  She  spoke  kindly  to  him,  and  Sam 
answered  respectfully  that  he  had  "  suthin'  to  give 
her,"  and,  bringing  up  the  stranger's  paper,  put  it 
into  her  hand. 

"  Yo\i  see,  Miss  Alice,"  said  he,  —  using  the  re 
spectful  language  common  to  him  when  speaking  to 


FASHIONABLE   EDUCATION. 


her,  — ' '  I've  had  this  scrap  o'  paper  more'n  a  week. 
I  picked  it  up  in  the  grass  as  I  was  ontying  the 
stranger's  horse.  He  was  awfully  consarned  about 
it ;  and  I  haint  had  no  luck  since  I  took  it.  The 
grindstone  broke  down  ;  and  I  fell  off  the  horse  and 
like  to  break  my  neck ;  and  it's  taken  the  butter 
more'n  twice  as  long  to  come  'n  it  ever  did  afore.  So 
I'm  jest  goin'  to  give  it  to  you.  1  couldn't  make  out 
a  word  of  it.  Mebbe  you'd  tell  me  ?  "  he  added,  his 
curiosity  once  more  getting  the  better  of  his  awe  of 
Alice. 

Alice  took  the  paper  and  unfolded  it.  It  was 
dirty  and  greasy,  having  been  so  long  in  Sam's 
pocket,  in  company  with  knives,  top-cords,  ginger 
bread,  and  the  like.  It  was  a  letter  written  in  a 
fine  French  hand,  and  commenced  abruptly  without 
any  address.  Before  Alice  had  read  far,  she  became 
aware  that  the  contents  of  that  paper  ought  not  to 
be  seen  by  her  eye  ;  but  statements  of  such  startling 
nature  were  set  forth  there,  that  she  read  on  over  two 
pages  of  note-paper,  and  finally  read  the  name 
signed  to  it,  without  fairly  comprehending  where 
she  was,  what  she  was  doing,  or  what  the  paper 
really  contained.  She  read  it  a  second  time,  and 
then  her  mind  took  in  all  the  force  and  power  of  the 
writer's  words.  It  purported  to  come  from  the  wife 
of  Eugene  Lovering,  and  was  filled  with  the  com 
plaints  of  a  despairing  and  much- wronged  woman. 
It  accused  him  of  neglect,  of  failure  to  meet 


THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

promises,  and  finally  charged  him  with  changing 
his  name  to  Henri  Claremont,  and  stated  that  rumor 
coupled  his  name  with  a  beautiful  Miss  Whiting. 
There  were  vague  hints  also  of  a  forgery  and  pur 
suit,  and  an  earnest  prayer  that  he  would  escape 
before  it  was  too  late.  The  name  signed  was 
simply  "  Evelina." 

The  blush  of  shame  and  indignation  rose  to 
Alice's  cheeks.  Totally  unconscious  of  all  save  the 
astounding  revelations  of  this  letter,  Alice  walked 
into  the  house  and  up  to  her  room.  There,  as  usual 
with  her,  she  fell  into  a  fit  of  profound  musing.  She 
thought  over  every  thing  connected  with  Henri 
Claremont's  acqiiaintance  in  the  family.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  they  had  allowed  such  a  viper  to 
creep  among  them,  and  perhaps  to  poison  the  mind 
of  Lizzie  with  falsehood  and  flattery?  He  who 
could  be  so  dead  to  truth  and  honor  in  one  case 
could  be  in  another.  Alice  knew  Lizzie  to  be  a  ro 
mantic  girl,  whose  mind  rested  on  no  firm  founda 
tion  of  principle ;  but  she  knew  that  her  pride  would 
scorn  one  like  Henri  Claremont.  Nor  was  she  mis 
taken,  Yet  Lizzie's  lack  of  prudence  would  have 
prevented  her  seeing  him  in  his  true  colors.  She 
had  never  questioned  the  motives  or  pretensions  of 
others.  She  gave  admiration  and  respect  to  a  glit 
tering  outside,  and  a  ready  ear  to  her  own  praise. 
Hence  Alice  feared.  She  knew  Lizzie's  haughty 
temper,  and  that  she  would  never  ask  or  listen  to 


FASHIONABLE    EDUCATION. 


advice  from  others.  She  thought  of  her  cousin  in 
the  presence  of  one  without  honor  or  integrity,  and 
shuddered.  As  little  as  Alice  knew  of  romance  or 
day-dreaming,  she  could  readily  see  how  easily  one 
of  Lizzie's  unstable  mind  might  be  allured  like  a 
child  by  an  empty  promise  or  a  goodly  seeming. 
But  here  was  this  note  !  She  had  no  right  to  keep 
it  in  her  possession,  and  yet  to  whom  could  she  give 
it  ?  Fred  was  away  ;  her  aunt's  nerves  rendered 
her  unfit  for  any  emergency  ;  and  Ada  was  ineffi 
cient  as  a  child.  No  !  She  felt  that  she  must  go  to 
her  uncle.  As  Lizzie's  father,  it  was  most  proper 
he  should  look  after  the  interests  of  his  child. 

Mr.  Whiting  sat  in  the  twilight  of  the  old  kitchen 
mending  a  rake.  As  Alice  came  in  with  her  usual 
quiet,  he  raised  his  head  with  a  smile,  and  asked 
her  some  questions  about  her  school.  He  had 
finished  getting  in  his  harvest  that  day,  and  dis 
missed  his  hired  man  ;  and  now  he  was  feeling  a 
little  discouraged  about  the  future.  Alice  thought 
to  herself  that  it  was  a  poor  time  to  trouble  him  with 
unpleasant  intelligence.  She  arose  and  procured  a 
light,  and  then  going  to  her  uncle's  side  said,  "  Uncle 
William,  you  are  not  feeling  very  well,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Not  so  well  as  I  ought,  with  so  many  good  com 
forters  around  me.  But,  Alice,  you  look  pale.  I 
shall  forbid  your  teaching  altogether." 

"  It  isn't  the  labor  that  makes  me  pale,  uncle,  but 
only  a  little  sad  thought.  I  have  learned  some  un- 


THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

pleasant  facts  to-day,  which  I  meant  to  make  known 
to  you.  I  did  not  think  to  see  you  so  sad  and 
weary.  Shall  I  tell  you  now,  or  wait  till  to 
morrow  ?  " 

Mr.  Whiting  looked  alarmed,  and  begged  her  to 
tell  him  immediately.  And  Alice,  who  saw  that  he 
would  be  tormenting  himself  with  vague  fears,  if 
she  delayed,  put  the  note  into  his  hand,  with  the 
story  of  its  discovery. 

There  is  no  point  on  which  a  man  is  more  deli 
cately  sensitive  than  that  of  family  honor.  Poverty, 
loss  of  friends,  even  death  itself,  can  be  better  borne 
than  disgrace.  Mr.  Whiting  had  supposed  that  the 
opinion  of  the  world  was  nothing  to  him,  that  in 
him  the  fires  of  ambition  were  gone  out.  He  was 
mistaken.  The  fires  of  pride  had  indeed  been 
dashed  out  by  the  cold  water  of  misfortune,  but  be 
neath  they  still  smouldered ;  and  in  that  hour  the 
thought  of  what  the  world  would  say  was  strong 
within  him.  That  his  spotless  name  should  be 
spoken  abroad  in  the  same  breath  with  the  name  of 
a  forger !  That  his  daughter  should  be  thought 
of  at  the  same  time  with  one  so  utterly  worthless  ! 
That  he  should  have  harbored  beneath  his  roof  a 
felon  !  It  was  too  much !  Forgive  him,  if,  as  he 
walked  nervously  to  and  fro,  some  bitter  words 
crossed  his  lips !  Forgive  him,  ye  fashionable 
mothers  and  exquisite  daughters,  if  in  that  moment 
he  hurled  terrible  denunciations  at  your  pet  theories 


FASHIONABLE    EDUCATION. 


of  education,  and  spoke  some  bitter  truths  of  his 
daughter's  folly  and  imprudence  !  It  was  natural. 

Alice  raised  her  head.  She  could  not  bear  to  see 
him  so.  She  arose  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  — 
"  Uncle  William,  Lizzie  was  more  sinned  against 
than  sinning." 

"True,  —  too  true,  alas!"  he  said.  "I  have 
sinned  against  her  cruelly.  It  is  not  her  fault.  It 
is  mine." 

Alice  was  silent. 

"  O  Alice  !  "  he  faltered,  "  how  nearly  I  had  been 
the  ruin  of  my  child  !  " 

Still  Alice  said  nothing.  The  sight  of  her  uncle's 
deep  humiliation  weighed  upon  her.  The  tears 
rushed  to  her  eyes,  and  she  pressed  his  hand  in 
sympathy.  Looking  up,  he  saw  her  weeping. 

"  O  Alice  !  "  he  faltered,  —  "little  Alice,  if  all  the 
world  were  like  you,  we  should  have  no  need  of 
guardian  angels.  Had  it  not  been  for  my  foolish 
weakness,  my  daughters  might  have  been  like  you. 
But  God  is  just.  '  He  that  soweth  the  wind  must 
reap  the  whirlwind.'  I  am  punished.  His  judg 
ments  have  fallen  upon  me  very  bitterly." 

"  God  is  merciful,"  whispered  Alice. 

"  Yes,  merciful  !  "  repeated  Mr.  Whiting.  "  My 
pride  is  broken  like  a  reed,  that  I  might  acknow 
ledge  his  hand.  Perhaps  some  day  I  may  say, 
'  Our  Father,'  as  I  did  at  my  mother's  knee." 

The  light  burned  dimly.     The  dark  walls  of  the 


THE   SHEAVES   OF   LOVE. 

old  kitchen  threw  shadows  into  the  room,  which 
fell  like  a  mantle  over  the  bowed  man.  It  was  a 
strange  unfolding  of  human  life  for  one  so  young  as 
Alice. 

"  May  the  Lord  bless  you,  my  dear  uncle,  and 
forgive  us  all  our  heart-wanderings !  "  and  Alice 
was  gone,  leaving  him  alone  with  the  night  and  his 
accusing  thoughts. 

Not  with  anger,  but  mth  a  sad  tenderness,  did 
Mr.  Whiting  talk  to  his  eldest  daughter  the  next 
day.  He  pictured  to  her  the  evil  of  allowing  every 
one  indiscriminatingly  to  her  acquaintance,  who 
came  with  no  stronger  recommendation  than  a 
foreign  style  and  fine  coat.  He  talked  lovingly  and 
earnestly  to  her  ;  and  the  proud  girl  was  softened, 
and  some  natural  tears  gave  proof  that  the  springs 
of  right  feeling  were  not  entirely  dried  up.  There 
are  some  minds  which  never  apprehend  danger  till 
they  are  on  the  very  verge  of  the  precipice,  —  some 
who  literally  "take  no  thought  of  the  morrow." 
Such  was  Lizzie  Whiting.  Her  father  realized  that 
one  so  excitable,  so  thoughtless,  needed  all  the 
checks  of  principle,  and  reflected  sadly  that  the  firm 
self-control  and  high  culture  which  a  true  education 
would  have  given  her  had  been  thrown  away  by 
four  years  at  a  fashionable  boarding-school. 

The  next  week's  papers  from  New  York  brought 
news  that  Eugene  Lovering,  alias  Henri  Claremont, 
had  been  arrested  for  forgery,  and  sentenced  to  the 


FASHIONABLE   EDUCATION.  229 

State  Prison  for  a  long  term  of  years.  Lizzie 
shuddered  as  she  read  it. 

tf  There  is  no  safety  for  any  one,"  said  Ada. 

"Yes,"  said  Alice,  "there  is  safety  in  a  pure 
heart.  A  pure  heart  is  a  thermometer,  and  falls  at 
every  breath  of  evil.  He  who  possesses  this  safe 
guard  is  rich,  though  he  had  nothing  else." 

Lizzie  almost  forgot  herself.  She  was  about  to 
say,  "  O  Alice !  show  me  how  to  find  this  safe 
guard."  But  she  checked  herself.  The  good  im 
pulse  was  only  the  choked  spring  bubbling  up 
amid  the  rubbish  of  a  false  life. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

FOOD      FOB      THOUGHT. 

JUDGE  HALL  doated  on  his  son,  —  that  was  plain ; 
and  no  one  blamed  him  for  it.  But  "  every  heart 
knoweth  its  own  bitterness  ;  "  and  Judge  Hall  found 
his  in  his  son's  skepticism.  It  was  a  barrier  in  the 
path  his  father  had  longed  to  see  him  tread.  It  pre 
vented  his  usefulness ;  it  darkened  his  life.  Ed 
ward  believed  in  God,  and  loved  nature  as  God's 
work;  but  of  living  faith  he  knew  nothing.  His 
religion  was  scientific,  —  built  of  philosophic  theo 
ries  and  logical  deductions,  which  his  reason  ap 
proved.  And  yet,  beneath  all,  this  high  soul  longed 
after  truth,  as  the  hart  panteth  for  the  water-brooks, 
and  loathed  the  husks  it  fed  on.  But  the  stern 
pride  of  the  man  was  there.  He  would  not  believe 
until  reason  and  judgment  approved ;  and  so  he 
crushed  back  the  glowing  aspirations  of  youth  as  a 
weakness.  But  there  come  times  to  all  such  souls, 
when  they  feel  how  poor  a  teacher  is  intellect  alone. 
They  realize  that  their  fine  words  and  lofty  dream- 
ings  are  more  truly  lived  out  every  day  by  some 
lowly  follower  of  Christ.  They  Teel  that  they  are 
like  the  fig-tree  which  Bore  only  leaves. 

Such  a  monitor  was  Alice  Morton  to  Edward 
Hall.  Circumstances  had  thrown  them  together 


FOOD    FOR   THOUGHT. 

much ;  and  every  conversation  but  revealed  more 
fully  her  calm  faith,  her  Christian  principle.  In 
vain  Edward  reasoned  with  himself,  that  she  be 
lieved  blindly ;  that  she  had  never  studied  philoso 
phy  to  any  depth.  The  fact  still  remained,  that  she 
lived  a  truer  life,  —  did  more  good,  and  was  hap 
pier. 

It  was  a  dull  day,  —  the  first  of  December.  Sam 
had  brought  Alice  in  the  chaise  to  give  her  custo 
mary  lesson  to  Nina,  —  a  task  which  was  a  delight 
to  her,  for  the  child  really  had  genius,  and  entered 
into  the  very  soul  of  music.  As  Nina  ran  out  of 
the  room  at  the  close  of  the  hour  allotted,  Edward 
begged  to  be  favored  with  some  music.  Alice's 
hands  trembled  some  as  she  ran  them  over  the  keys. 
She  had  much  rather  have  been  excused ;  but  she 
would  not  deny  so  simple  a  wish.  She  sang  some 
pretty  Scotch  ballads,  and  some  of  Moore's  charm 
ing  songs.  When  about  to  rise,  Edward  said, 
( '  Pray,  Miss  Morton,  favor  me  with  one  hymn,  — 
that  beautiful  one,  '  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul.' " 

For  years  that  hymn  had  not  passed  Alice's  lips. 
It  was  her  mother's  favorite.  She  touched  the  keys 
with  unsteady  fingers,  and  her  voice  trembled  with 
suppressed  feeling,  —  almost  melted  to  tears.  The 
memory  of  that  sweet  voice,  which  once  sang  it  in 
her  childish  ears,  was  all  Alice  thought  of;  and  she 
threw  into  it  a  depth  of  pathos  and  tenderness  born 
of  real  feeling.  As  she  sang  the  last  beautiful 


THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

verse,  her  voice  almost  failed  her ;  but  she  choked 
back  her  tears,  though  her  voice  spoke  them  in  the 
strain,  — 

"  Other  refuge  have  I  none,  — 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee : 
Leave,  oh !  leave  me  not  alone,  — 

Still  support  and  comfort  me. 
All  my  hope  on  Thee  is  stayed  ; 

All  my  help  from  Thee  I  bring. 
Cover  my  defenceless  head 

With  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing." 

Alice  rose,  and  would  have  passed  from  the  room ; 
but  Edward  sprang  eagerly  forward.  "  Stay,  Miss 
Morton,  —  will  you  not  let  me  thank  you  ?  will  you 
not  let  me  ask  you  one  question  ?  " 

Alice  sat  down  on  the  music-stool. 

"  Forgive  me,  Miss  Morton ;  but  I  am  going  to 
ask  you  a  question,  which  perhaps  you  will  think 
a  strange  one.  There  is  a  man,"  began  Edward, 
"  who  has  lived  all  his  life  in  the  midst  of  plenty 
and  prosperity.  He  worships  the  beautiful,  and 
loves  the  good,  wherever  he  finds  it.  God  gave 
him  talents,  and  he  might  use  them  if  he  would. 
To  him  as  to  all  the  world  comes  the  command, 
*  Arise,  and  work ! '  But  he  sits  idle.  He  feels 
that  if  he  works  it  is  vanity,  if  he  is  idle  it  is  vani 
ty  ;  that  either  way  the  labor  of  man  profiteth  no 
thing.  He  believes  in  goodness,  and  would  like  to 
raise  his  fellow-men ;  but  he  sees  no  hope.  The 


FOOD    FOR  THOUGHT.  £33 

millennium  to  him  is  a  beautiful  dream,  and  man's 
regeneration  a  sublime  idea,  but  impossible  to  be 
realized.  What  would  you  think  of  such  a  one, 
Miss  Morton  ?  " 

Alice  gazed  full  into  his  face,  —  it  was  very 
earnest.  Could  it  be  possible  he  spoke  of  himself? 

"I  should  think,"  replied  she,  "that  his  mind 
was -morbid;  and,  before  he  could  help  his  fellows, 
he  must  recover  his  own  health." 

"  I  am  the  man,"  replied  Edward,  blushing.  "  I 
would  give  worlds,  Miss  Morton,  for  the  faith  your 
hymn  expressed.  You  felt  it ;  so  did  I.  But  my 
reason  said,  '  It  is  only  an  emotion,  —  it  cannot  be 
trusted.'  What  is  it  that  gives  you  this  trust  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  knowledge  of  my  own  weakness.  We 
are  offered  this  refuge  in  the  love  of  God,  —  upon 
whom  should  we  lean,  if  not  on  Infinity  ?  " 

"But,  Miss  Morton,  you  take  this  for  granted. 
Intellect  takes  nothing  for  granted." 

"  We  cannot  find  both  question  and  answer  en 
tirely  in  ourselves,"  replied  Alice.  "  We  must  have 
a  starting-point." 

"But  why  this  necessity?  I  want  to  see  the 
reason  of  faith." 

Alice  smiled.  "  '  Except  ye  become,'  — have  you 
forgotten  that  passage.  When  you  were  a  child, 
Mr.  Hall,  and  learned  the  alphabet,  did  you  think 
of  asking  why  the  first  letter  was  *  A '  ?  I  should 
as  soon  think  of  asking  that  question  as  asking  if 


234  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

we  could  be  sure  of  the  love  of  God.     It  is  the 
centre  of  the  soul  itself.     It  must  be  so." 

Edward  was  silent,  —  the  words  had  struck  home. 
She  was  not  skilled  in  the  philosophies  of  the 
schools  ;  but  she  had  the  living  fire  of  truth  in  her 
words. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Morton.  You  must  think  I 
am  a  strange  person.  But  I  want  to  hear  with  the 
simplicity  of  a  child.  No  sacrifice  of  pride  would 
be  too  great  if  I  could  win  truth." 

Once  more  Alice  smiled.  "  You  mistake  yourself, 
Mr.  Hall.  Your  very  renunciation  of  pride  is  a 
worse  pride.  You  come  to  the  door  of  heaven,  and 
knock,  and  think  yourself  worthy  of  an  answer  be 
cause  you  have  made  so  great  a  sacrifice  of  intel 
lectual  pride.  You  think  it  a  great  sacrifice  for  the 
man  to  become  a  child." 

Edward  had  never  thought  of  it  before ;  but  it 
was  true,  —  his  conscience  told  him  so. 

"  After  all,"  said  Alice,  lt  we  must  come  down  to 
first  principles.  Our  beginning  and  our  ending  is 
mystery,  —  the  world  is  vanity.  Our  only  refuge  is 
faith  in  God.  The  fraction  of  human  knowledge, 
reduced  to  its  lowest  terms,  resolves  itself  at  last 
into  a  cypher.  Without  God,  we  are  but  a  handful 
of  dust.  With  faith  in  him,  that  dust  becomes  like 
the  ashes  of  the  phoenix,  from  which  "  life  and  im 
mortality  shall  be  brought  to  light." 

Edward  gazed  upon  her  in  awe,  —  nearly  in  rever- 


FOOD   FOR   THOUGHT.  235 

ence.  She  had  risen  from  the  seat,  and  now  stood 
with  glowing  cheeks,  and  an  eye  kindled  by  thought. 
It  was  a  burst  of  natural  eloquence.  He  said 
nothing,  and  Alice  sunk  upon  the  music-stool  with 
painful  embarrassment  at  having  spoken  so  earnestly. 

At  last  he  said,  (t  But,  Miss  Morton,  what  shall  we 
believe  ?  Transcendentalism  is  too  dreamy.  The 
dogmas  of  the  church  are  too  narrow.  What  shall 
we  believe  ? " 

She  rose  up  once  more,  and  stepped  somewhat 
forward.  "  Love  truth,  and  seek  it,  —  but  not  in  the 
creeds  of  the  world.  ]\%ich  study  is  a  weariness  of 
the  flesh.  Let  us  hear  the  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter,  —  '  Fear  God  and  keep  his  commandments  ; 
for  this  is  the  whole  duty  of  man.' ' 

And,  when  Edward  looked  up,  she  was  gone. 
But  not  soon  died  her  words  from  his  mind.  They 
were  food  for  thought  for  many  days. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

.TWO     CHRISTMAS     SCENES. 

"  ONE  year  ago  ! "  Many  things  may  happen  in 
a  year.  The  hopes  of  thousands  may  have  been 
wrecked,  and  the  light  that  shone  for  them  may  now 
be  streaming  on  the  upturned  faces  of  others.  Ah  ! 
there  are  few  hearts  which  do  not  recall  "  one  year 
ago  "  with  some  secret  pangs !  Some  for  whom  its 
circle  began  or  ended  witk  a  grave  !  Some  who 
watch  the  old  year  out  with  shivering  sadness,  be 
cause  the  warm  fires  of  love  have  died  out  on  their 
own  hearthstones !  And  there  are  some  who  re 
joice,  because  they  have  "  fought  a  good  fight,  and 
travelled  a  sabbath  day's  journey  nearer  the  celestial 
city." 

"  I  am  dead  to  the  world/'  said  Mr.  Whiting  on 
this  Christmas  Eve. 

Do  you  remember  Mr.  Whiting's  last  Christmas 
Eve  ?  Perhaps  you  can  recall,  as  I  do,  the  dreary 
drawing-room,  the  dying  fire,  the  lonely  man,  and 
the  sweet  monitor  —  half  woman,  half  child  —  who 
stood  .there  with  a  lesson  for  him,  which  he  began  to 
learn  from  that  time.  But  that  was  one  year  ago. 
Mr.  Whiting's  name  is  now  no  longer  known  on 
'Change.  The  spacious  halls  have  narrowed  to  the 
cozy  rooms  of  the  old-fashioned  farm-house. 


TWO    CHRISTMAS   SCENES.  837 

"  "We  are  very  comfortable  "here,  are  we  not,  dear 
uncle  ?  "  said  Alice,  as  they  sat  in  front  of  the  blaz 
ing  wood  fire.  Her  uncle  assented  with  a  gratified 
look.  It  reminded  him  of  the  family  gatherings  of 
his  boyhood.  The  little  sitting-room  really  shone. 
The  bright  blaze  of  the  fire  lit  up  the  crimson  car 
pet,  and  played  in  fantastic  lights  and  shadows  on 
the  wall,  and  upon  the  happy  faces  of  those  as 
sembled  there. 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  !  "  said  Ada.  "  Don't  you 
think  so,  mother  ?  "  Mrs.  Whiting  sat  apart  in  an 
easy-chair,  and  now  raised  her  head  languidly. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  answered,  "  for  those  who  have 
known  nothing  better.  Lizzie,  do  you  remember 
Mrs.  Hammersford's  ball,  last  Christmas  Eve  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  never  mind  balls  now,  mother,"  said  Fred, 
who  had  returned  for  the  holidays.  "  We've  got 
something  better.  Come,  father,  mother,  Lizzie, 
Ada,  look  here  !  "  and  Fred  threw  open  the  door  of 
the  little  library,  from  whence  a  stream  of  golden 
light  fell  merrily.  There,  blazing  and  flashing, 
stood  a  Christmas  Tree.  Fred  and  Alice  and  the 
girls  looked  roguish  enough  at  the  surprise  they 
had  caused  the  others.  Fred  would  have  Sam  and 
Content  called  in.  They  came  shyly  from  the 
kitchen,  Sam  gazing  with  admiring  wonder.  Few 
and  simple  were  the  gifts  ;  but  we  love  each  other 
not  so  much  for  what  is  given  as  for  the  kindness 
of  heart  which  prompts  the  offering.  There  was  a 


£38  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

• 

nice  pair  of  slippers  for  Mr.  Whiting,  wrought  by 
Lizzie's  willing  fingers  ;  a  handsome  dress  from  Fred 
for  his  mother ;  a  case  of  sketching  pencils  for  Ada. 
'Tenty  was  made  extatic  by  the  gift  of  another  ban 
danna,  gayer  than  the  first ;  and  Sam  was  completely 
overwhelmed  by  receiving  for  a  gift  what  he  had 
long  coveted,  but  never  dreamed  of  possessing,  —  a 
pair  of  patent-leather  shoes,  to  replace  a  pair  of  old 
clogs  he  had  lost  in  the  brook  only  a  week  before. 
And  was  there  nothing  for  Fred  and  Alice  ?  Come 
and  look  over  Alice's  shoulder,  and  we  shall  see. 
She  is  standing  at  the  bookcase,  trying  to  see  through 
her  tears  a  beautiful  bound  edition  of  the  German 
Poets.  Fred  laughs,  and  shakes  his  head  at  her  ex 
pressions  of  gratitude,  and  assures  her  that  this  gift 
is  nothing  compared  with  the  hair  watch-guard  he 
holds  in  his  hand.  "  I  shall  always  prize  it,  Alice, 
as  a  memento  of  the  three  dear  sisters  I  love." 

Joyous  was  that  Christmas  Eve.  Hearts  grew 
warm  with  happy  feeling,  which  had  long  been 
frozen  in  the  icy  chains  of  fashion.  Some  few 
glimpses  of  household  love  had  cheered  them.  Mr. 
Whiting  felt  that  hfire,  at  least,  he  could  rest ;  and 
slowly  the  day-star  was  rising,  in  whose  holy  beams 
was  the  promise  of  "  Peace."  Only  Mrs.  Whiting 
remained  as  ever,  —  restless,  nervous,  complaining. 
All  round  the  walls,  bright  holly-berries  and  ever 
greens  had  been  hung.  The  brown  nuts  that  the 
forest  trees  had  given  them  were  displayed  for  win- 


TWO    CHRISTMAS    SCENES.  239 

ter  cheer ;  and  sober  russets  and  golden  pippins 
looked  out  temptingly  from  their  beds  of  snowy 
corn. 

"I  am  going  to  tell  the  name  of  your  future 
spouse,  Alice,"  said  Fred,  as  he  threw  over  her  head 
a  long  apple-paring. 

"  A  perfect  *  E,J  I  declare,"  said  Ada,  as  it  curled 
up  on  the  floor. 

"  Well,  now  for  the  last  initial,"  laughed  Fred. 
"  I  declare,"  said  he,  as  it  came  down,  "  its  an  ( H.'  " 
"  It  looks' more  like  an  <N,'  I  am  sure,"  said  the 
blushing  Alice. 

"  No  :  it's  a  bona  fide  '  H,'  "  persisted  her  cousin. 
"  It  couldn't  have  been  better,  could  it,  Liz  ?  "  added 
he  provokingly. 

The  soft  rays  of  the  study  lamp  fell  across  the 
library  floor,  and  the  judge  sat  among  his  law- 
papers,  with  dreamy  eyes  looking  into  the  future, 
and  back  upon  the  past.  Music  and  festivity  had 
been  there  ;  for  it  was  Christmas  Eve.  But  now  the 
dancing  footsteps  were  hushed ;  the  great  clock  in 
the  hall  pointed  prayerfully  to  the  hour  of  twelve, 
and  the  silver  chimes  rang  out,  as  of  old  they  did 
when  the  angels  sang,  "  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest ; 
on  earth  peace,  good-will  towards  men." 

It  was  midnight,  —  the  magic  hour  when,  as  old 
legends  say,  spirits  walk  the  familiar  places  of  the 
earth  once  more.  And  truly,  as  the  light  streamed 
over  the  gray  hairs  of  that  good  old  man,  one  might 


240  THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

almost  think  a  rewarding  angel  had  circled  his  brow 
with  its  promised  crown.  It  is  a  mistake  to  say  that 
spirits  walk  the  earth  no  more.  They  will  walk 
with  us,  hand  in  hand,  if  our  touch  is  pure  and 
holy.  They  will  sup  with  us  and  sojourn  with  us, 
if  faith  and'  love  are  in  our  hearts  and  homes. 
They  come  to  us  now  pure  as  when  they  came  to 
Eden,  trailing  their  white  robes  over  the  brown 
earth  ;  and  where  they  stopped  to  comfort  the  earth 
worm,  or  make  a  stained  soul  white  again,  we  say 
the  place  is  holy,  and  take  off  our  shoes,  and  listen 
reverently,  as  if  a  voice  should  say,  "  Peace  and 
good  neighborhood." 

A  dark  figure  glided  in  with  noiseless  footfall,  and 
stood  by  the  old  man's  chair. 

The  old  man  smiles  in  his  revery.  He  is  think 
ing,  perhaps,  of  the  many  hearts  he  has  made  glad 
in  the  past  year  ;  and  how  the  poor  widow  blessed 
him  when  he  sent  her  food  and  fuel  for  a  Christ 
mas  gift.  But  now  his  face  darkens,  his  brow  is 
troubled,  and  a  tender  sadness  takes  the  place  of  the 
glad  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  my  son !  my  son  !  "  said  the  trembling  lips. 

The  dark  figure  raised  its  head  suddenly,  and  the 
judge  started  as  if  he  heard  a  sigh. 

"  One  thing  have  I  desired  of  Thee  above  all 
others,"  said  the  judge  prayerfully,  —  "  that  my  son 
might  come  home  to  Thee  and  to  me." 

"  Father,  he  has !  "  and,  turning,  the  judge  saw 


TWO     CHRISTMAS     SCENES. 


his  son  standing  with  folded  arms  and  compressed 
lips  before  him. 

"  It  is  Edward  !  it  is  my  son  !  "  said  the  judge, 
as  he  stretched  out  his  arms  ;  but  Edward  stood 
motionless. 

"  Father,  I  have  sinned,  and  am  not  worthy  of  a 
blessing." 

It  is  not  for  curious  eyes  to  look  upon  the  prodi 
gal  when  he  comes  back  to  the  arms  of  love.  A 
calm  joy,  like  the  soft  blessing  of  evening  after  a 
day  of  weary  toil,  settled  around  them.  The  strug 
gle  and  the  anxiety  were  over,  and  now  they  might 
rest  in  each  other's  love  ;  while  all  around  them 
flowed  the  golden  band  of  that  infinite  love  whose 
circle  is  Faith,  and  whose  signet  is  Peace. 

"  The  waves  of  life  had  no  balm  for  me,"  said 
Edward,  "  till  an  angel  went  down  before,  and 
troubled  the  waters.  Then  I  stepped  in,  and  was 
healed." 

"  It  is  enough,"  said  the  judge.  "  My  son  is  not 
an  alien  from  the  faith  of  his  fathers." 


11 


CHAPTER   XXVH. 

THE       MAGIC       H  A  K  P. 

"  I  TOLD  you  a  story  once,  Miss  Morton.  Will 
you  let  me  tell  you  another  one  "i "  asked  Edward, 
as  he  drew  his  chair  nearer  hers. 

Alice  assented.  She  knew,  that,  when  he  told  a 
story,  it  was  worth  listening  to.  Edward  paused  a 
moment,  as  if  in  thought,  and  then  spoke  as  fol 
lows  :  "  A  young  soul  wandered  out  of  the  gate  of 
Paradise.  It  hung  its  harp  upon  the  willows  that 
grow  by  the  bank  of  the  celestial  river ;  for  the  good 
Father  said,  '  Go  work  in  my  vineyard,  and  I  will 
give  thee  a  new  harp,  —  even  the  heart  of  man,  — 
that  thou  mayest  attune  it  unto  the  melodies  of 
love.'  And  so  the  white  soul  came  into  the  world 
as  a  human  child,  with  a  divine  gift.  The  angels  of 
Truth  and  Peace  were  its  elder  sisters,  and  sang  its 
first  cradle-songs.  Its  face  was  not  fair,  as  you 
would  imagine  the  face  of  such  a  good  spirit,  but 
was  dark,  and  some  would  say,  at  first  sight,  un 
lovely.  But,  as  she  journeyed  on,  she  played  upon 
the  magic  harp ;  and  its  tones  were  so  sweet,  that 
those  who  heard  them  said,  *  An  angel  is  passing,' 
and  forgot  her  face  in  the  softness  of  hei  song.  By- 
and-by,  the  path  became  rugged  and  hard  to  tread. 
Then  her  feet  began  to  falter,  and  her  heart  to  grow 


THE    MAGIC    HARP.  243 

somewhat  heavy ;  but,  when  every  thing  else  had 
failed,  this  harp  became  all  to  her,  and  drew  such 
sweet  music  from  even  the  trial  and  trouble,  that 
every  one  stood  still  to  listen ;  and  as  they  listened 
their  souls  melted  in  them  with  longing  after  a  life 
so  true  and  beautiful  as  the  song  portrayed.  For 
you  remember  the  good  Father  had  said  she  should 
attune  the  heart  into  the  melodies  of  love. 

"  It  came  to  pass,  as  she  sojourned  in  a  beautiful 
valley,  that  she  met  a  brother  soul,  whose  faith  was 
destroyed  by  clouds  of  unbelief,  —  who  had  wasted 
has  life,  and  had  forgotten  his  God.  The  soul  of 
the  good  monitor  was  stirred  with  pity.  She 
touched  her  lyre,  and  the  air  rang  out  with  a  sym 
phony  so  holy,  so  heavenly,  that  it  seemed  as  if  one 
might  feel  the  very  love  of  God  of  which  she  sang. 
And  the  young  doubter,  looking  upward,  saw  light, 
and  believed.  He  went  his  way  ;  but  he  could  not 
forget  the  harp  nor  the  maiden.  He  longed  to  hear 
the  song  once  more,  and  gather  faith  from  the  lips 
of  his  monitor.  Do  you  see  the  moral  of  my  tale  ?  " 

Alice  blushed  painfully.  The  point  of  the  story 
had  been  too  plain  ;  but  she  said  nothing. 

"  This  harp,"  continued  Edward,  "  was  the 
maiden's  heart.  Its  silver  strings  were  love,  faith, 
patience,  hope,  meekness,  and  gentleness.  Those 
around  her  always  heard  some  harmony  breathing 
through  her  lips.  And  I  have  heard  it  said  that 
whoever  should  join  hands  with  her  for  the  life- 


244 


THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 


journey  would  hear  those  sweet  voices  ever  singing, 
and  inherit  the  blessing  she  will  receive  when  she 
goes  back  to  her  Father.  Look  up,  Alice,  and  tell 
me  if  I  may  hope  for  this  guidance." 

Alice's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  she  put  her  hand 
in  Edward's. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

A     JOYFUL    REVELATION. 

THE  fading  sunset  of  a  soft  June  day  was  •wrap 
ping  hill  and  valley  in  glory  as  Ellen  Lee  once 
more  came  back  to  her  old  home.  She  put  her 
head  out  of  the  old  stage  window  to  note  each 
familiar  thing,  —  the  spire  of  the  seminary,  glistening 
in  the  distance  ;  the  slope  of  the  green  hill ;  and  the 
farm  boys  going  home,  or  finishing  their  labor,  with 
merry  tune  and  whistle. 

It  was  Ellen  Lee ;  but  how  changed !  The 
traces  of  deep  sorrow  were  upon  her  face ;  her  brow 
was  paler  than  ever  ;  and  the  soft  bands  of  hair  were 
parted  smoothly  on  her  forehead,  instead  of  flying 
in  truant  ringlets  as  they  did  once.  A  suit  of  neat 
black  had  taken  the  place  of  the  coarse  homemade 
garments  in  which  we  last  saw  her.  But  the  stage 
rolled  on  to  the  farm  door,  and  brought  Ellen  to  her 
old  home  and  to  a  warm  welcome.  Alice  and  Ada 
embraced  her  with  gladness ;  and  Lizzie  seemed 
interested  in  the  young  stranger,  whose  deep  mourn 
ing  dress  seemed  to  call  for  sympathy  and  plead  for 
kindness. 

"  She  has  a  sweet  face,  has  she  not  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Whiting  ;  and  his  wife*  could  not  but  assent. 

"  Charles   and  I  are  orphans,  dear    Alice,"    she 


246  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

said,  as  they  sat  at  the  pleasant  west  window  that 
night.  "  They  are  both  gone  home,  —  mother,  and 
grandfather  too.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  were.  But 
I  must  stay  while  He  gives  me  work  to  do.  Alice, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  you,  I  should  have  been  a 
misanthrope." 

"  No,  dear  Ellen,  you  would  not :  there  is  too 
much  good  in  you.  You  were  only  a  little  tired 
and  unhappy  then.  Now  it  is  better,  and  you  have 
many  friends." 

"  I  have  lost  my  best  ones,  Alice !  Henceforth  I 
have  marked  out  my  life.  I  will  be  a  true  worker 
in  my  Lord's  vineyard.  I  will  be  like  a  tree,  which 
brings  forth  its  fruit  in  due  season.  All  the  good 
that  I  can  yield  shall  be  given  up,  lest  at  any  time 
the  Lord  of  the  vineyard  should  say,  '  Lo !  these 
many  years  do  I  come  seeking  fruit,  and  finding 
none.  Cut  it  down.' " 

"  But  what  shall  you  do,  Ellen  ?  " 

"Do  you  remember,  Alice,  a  conversation  we 
once  had  upon  duty?  I  then  felt  that  my  talent  for 
composition  should  be  encouraged,  and  longed  to 
write  rather  than  teach.  That  longing  has  never 
left  me.  Now  the  way  is  open  for  the  fulfilment  of 
my  hopes.  I  am  going  to  Italy.  Brother  Charles 
has  sent  for  his  lonely  sister  to  come  and  live  with 
him  at  Florence.  So  I  shall  go  in  the  fall." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Alice,  pressing  her  hand.  "  I 
knew  the  future  had  some  good  in  store  for  you. 


A   JOYFUL    REVELATION. 

The  last  shall  be  first,  and  the  first  last,"  said  she, 
with  a  sigh. 

Ellen  drew  her  chair  nearer  her  friend.  "  Can  you 
bear  some  startling  news,  Alice  ?  I  did  not  come 
here  merely  for  pleasure,  but  to  perform  an  import 
ant  mission.  Do  not  fear,  Alice  :  it  is  joyful  news, 
but  so  strange  and  so  happy,  I  am  afraid  you  will 
not  bear  it  well.  Are  you  quite  strong,  and  ready 
to  hear  it  ? "  she  continued,  looking  earnestly  into 
her  face. 

Alice  never  allowed  emotion  or  surprise  to  rob  her 
of  her  presence  of  mind.  She  sat  still,  trying  to 
think  what  'this  sudden  good  news  could  be.  She 
could  think  of  nothing  but  Fred.  Had  he  done 
something  noble,  and  so  brought  credit  upon  them 
all  ?  Or  perhaps  his  industry  and  genius  had  been 
rewarded,  and  some  hopeful  future  opened  before 
him.  As  these  simple  and  pleasing  hopes  ap 
pealed  to  her  mind,  she  turned  a  brightening  face 
towards  Ellen,  and  gave  her  full  assurance  that  she 
was  fully  able  to  listen  to  all  she  might  relate. 
Little  did  she  dream  how  much  fortitude  and 
strength  it  would  require  to  hear  it. 

"  It  is  a  long  story,  dear  Alice,"  began  Ellen ; 
"  and  you  must  not  interrupt  me.  You  know,  Alice, 
my  brother  has  been  situated  at  Florence  for  two 
years.  He  has  a  studio  there  ;  and  his  business 
brings  him  in  contact  with  many  travellers  who  visit 
the  studios  for  pleasure,  or  to  gratify  their  love  of 


248  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

the  beautiful  in  art.  These  visitors  come  in  and  go 
out  as  they  like ;  while  Charles  continues  his  work, 
sometimes  not  noticing  a  single  face  that  passes 
through  his  rooms.  One  day,  as  he  was  at  work 
copying  a  picture  of  Guido,  he  observed  a  tall,  dark- 
looking  gentleman  taking  a  survey  of  the  rooms, 
and  looking  at  the  pictures  with  an  indifferent  eye. 
Charles  had  finished  not  long  before  a  portrait  from 
memory  of  his  sister  and  her  friend  Alice.  This 
picture  hung  in  an  obscure  corner ;  for  you  know 
Charles  has  queer  notions,  and  he  had  taken  a  fancy 
that  this  picture  was  too  sacred  for  common  eyes." 

Ellen  glanced  at  Alice.  She  was  looking  at  her 
intently,  —  a  look  half  of  doubt,  half  of  wonder 
ment  ;  but  Ellen  saw  that  as  yet  she  had  no  suspi 
cion  of  the  truth. 

"  The  dark  gentleman  sauntered  towards  this 
corner,  and  carelessly  turned  the  picture  to  the  light. 
Charles  says  the  portrait  was  called  very  good.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gushing  had  seen  it,  and  offered  him  a 
large  sum  for  it ;  but  he  would  not  part  with  it. 
Your  arm,  dear  Alice,  was  around  my  waist. 
Your  lips  were  half  parted,  as  if  in  girlish  talk,  and 
your  eyes  looked  out  from  the  canvas  as  they  do  on 
all  your  friends,  with  a  tender  light  that  seems  to 
have  something  of  sadness  in  it." 

Alice  moved  impatiently.  "  Your  story  is  too 
romantic,  Ellen,  and  you  natter  a  little  too  much." 

"  You  were  not  to  interrupt  me,  you  know,"  said 


A   JOYFUL    REVELATION.  249 

Ellen.  "  Besides,  Alice,  I  never  can  help  being 
a  little  poetical.  It  is  a  failing  of  mine.  Charles 
had  taken  great  pains  with  my  portrait.  A  wreath 
of  blue  violets  was  twined  in  my  hair,  which  fell  in 
long  ringlets ;  and  one  hand  held  up  a  white  apron 
half  filled  with  wild  flowers.  Altogether  it  was 
called  a  very  pretty  picture,  though  most  persons 
supposed  it  a  fancy  sketch.  As  I  have  said,  the 
stranger  turned  the  picture  to  the  light.  For  one 
moment  he  seemed  spell-bound,  bewildered.  He 
pressed  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  and  gazed  long  and 
earnestly  at  the  picture  ;  while  his  cheeks  and  lips 
became  of  an  ashy  paleness,  which  even  the  dark  skin 
could  not  conceal.  "With  rapid  strides  he  came  to 
Charles's  side  ;  and,  while  my  brother  sat  with  idle 
pencil,  and  in  mute  surprise,  he  gasped  out,  '  Mr. 
Lee,  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  tell  me  where  you  got 
that  picture ! ' 

"  '  It  is  my  sister  Ellen  and  a  friend  of  her's,' " 
said  he.  '  It  is  not  intended  for  the  public  eye.  I 
painted  it  myself  from  memory.' 

"  The  stranger's  face  betokened  great  agitation, 
and  he  trembled  visibly.  *  What  is  the  name  of 
the  friend  ? '  was  the  next  question,  —  asked  eagerly, 
and  yet  with  a  seeming  dread  of  the  answer. 

"  '  Alice  Morton,  sir,'  said  Charles,  much  wonder 
ing  who  the  curious  person  could  be. 

"  '  It  is  !  it  is  !  Can  it  be  the  child  of  my  Mary, 
my  own  little  Alice  ?  but  no,  —  that  were  too  great 
11* 


250  THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

mercy,'  he  muttered  in  broken  syllables,  as  he  sank 
into  a  chair." 

Ellen  stopped  in  her  story ;  for  Alice  had  risen 
from  her  seat  in  eager  expectancy,  —  every  feature 
alive  with  feeling,  her  lips  colorless,  while  her 
hands  clutched  the  table  nervously  to  keep  from 
falling. 

"  Sit  down,  Alice,"  said  Ellen,  leading  her  forci 
bly  to  a  seat.  "  This  is  too  much  for  you.  I  might 
have  known  it.  Why  did  I  not  wait  till  to-morrow  ? 
You  are  faint." 

"  No,  no !  "  said  Alice.  "  I  am  better  I 
never  faint.  It  is  only  a  little  weakness.  But, 
Ellen,  you  are  not  trifling  with  me  ?  You  would 
not  tell  me  all  this  for  mere  amusement.  But  it 
cannot  be  true.  It  is  not !  —  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  all  true,"  said  Ellen.  "But,  my  dear 
friend,  1  cannot  go  on  till  I  see  you  better.  Would 
it  not  be  well  to  finish  to-morrow  ?  You  will  be 
stronger  then." 

"  No,  no !  I  must  hear  now.  I  will,"  said 
Alice  eagerly.  "  Who  was  he  ?  " 

"  At  the  gentleman's  wish,"  continued  Ellen, 
"  my  brother  gave  him  your  age  and  home,  your 
character  and  past  history.  Alice,  you  must  have 
guessed  the  truth.  It  was  your  father.  He  seemed 
bowed,  to  the  earth  when  Charles  told  him  of  your 
trials,  your  poverty.  He  seemed  to,  be  a  man  who 
had  exhausted  life,  —  who  had  been  disappointed. 


A    JOYFUL   REVELATION.  251 

But  he  will  find  a  lost  treasure  ;  and  you,  Alice,  will 
have  a  father." 

"  O  my  God !  "  said  Alice,  "  is  this  you  tell 
me  true  ?  Where  has  he  been  all  these  long  years  ? 
Oh  !  why,  why  was  my  mother  left  to  die  without 
the  knowledge  that  he,  her  best-beloved,  was  yet 
alive?  "Why  was  .1  left  to  the  crushing  thought 
that  I  was  an  orphan  and  unloved  ?  Oh !  my 
father  !  my  bitter  childhood  might  have  been  spared 
me  if  I  had  been  taken  into  your  .loving  arms.  I 
have  seen  so  much  of  life  and  the  heart,  Ellen,  I 
can  never  be  the  confiding  child  I  should  have  been 
had  he  been  here  to  protect  me." 

Once  Alice  had  stood  with  words  of  counsel  and 
courage  for  Ellen.  Now  their  places  were  reversed. 
Sympathy  beamed  from  every  feature  of  Ellen's 
face ;  her  arm  stole  softly  around  her  friend's  waist ; 
and  the  tears,  which  now  would  have  their  way, 
were  kissed  off  by  loving  lips.  "  Remember,  Alice, 
that  we  are  made  perfect  through  suffering.  Heaven 
grant  that  your  trials  are  ended,  and  that  the  future 
may  be  a  constant  peace,  a  heart-rest.  You  have 
been  a  loving  and  earnest  worker.  I  know  that  now 
you  will  have  your  reward.  Your  father  has  been 
for  seven  years  in  India.  My  brother  informs  me  in 
his  letter  that  he  is  reputed  wealthy.  I  cannot  tell 
you  as  your  father  would,  so  I  will  give  you  the 
packet  he  has  forwarded." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

• 

A  HOPE   FOB   THE   FUTURE. 

ALICE  hardly  knew  how  she  reached  her  chamber. 
Her  uncle's  family  had  long  since  retired ;  but  Alice 
had  not  thought  of  any  thing  save  the  packet  in  her 
hand,  and  the  mysterious  unfolding  of  human  life 
and  deep  feeling  she  knew  it  must  contain.  There 
are  times  when  some  great  sorrow  or  sudden  joy  so 
fills  the  depths  of  the  soul,  that  its  troubled  waters 
must  find  vent  in  tears.  Alice  wept ;  and  it  was 
what  she  had  long  needed.  Then,  throwing  herself 
upon  her  knees,  she  implored  strength  of  that 
Father  -whose  aid  is  ever  present,  to  bear  whatsoever 
might  be  in  store  for  her,  either  of  joy  or  sorrow. 

A  long  curl  of  dark  hair  dropped  from  the  packet, 
and  wound  about  her  fingers.  It  was  her  own. 
She  remembered  the  very  day  her  father  had  cut  it 
from  her  head,  when  she  sat  upon  his  knee  and  lis 
tened  in  childish  -wonderment,  while  he  told  her  he 
must  go  away  a  great  many  miles,  and  be  absent 
a  great  many  years.  How  true  that  prophecy  had 
been !  A  picture  of  her  mother  was  also  there. 
She  dropped  a  few  tears  over  the  beloved  face,  and 
then  turned  eagerly  to  read  the  closely  written  pages 
before  her :  — 


A    HOPE    FOR   THE    FUTURE.  253 

MY  OWN  DEAR    AND    NEVER-FORGOTTEN   ALICE,  —  How 

my  heart  yearns  towards  you,  as  the  only  tope  I  now  have  in 
life !  My  own  little  Alice,  —  can  I  believe  that  your  eyes  will 
see  these  lines ;  that  your  lips  will  once  more  speak  that  blessed 
word,  "  Father  "  ?  I  have  thought  you  dead,  my  child.  I  have 
mourned  for  you  as  one  who  was,  and  is  not.  Do  not  blame 
me,  Alice,  for  neglect  or  forgetfulness.  You  will  not,  when 
I  tell  you  how  sad  my  life  has  been,  —  how  many  bitter  days 
and  nights  I  have  passed  in  weariness.  Be  like  your  mother, — 
ever  gentle,  ever  forgiving. 

As  briefly  as  possible  I  will  tell  you  my  story. 

You  were  quite  a  child,  Alice,  when  I  left  home.  For  two 
years  I  was  gladdened  with  letters  from  friends  in  the  East. 
My  health  was  good,  and  my  success  as  great  as  could  be  ex 
pected.  Probably  you  know,  my  child,  that  I  went  to  the  mines. 
How  often  have  I  regretted  it  since !  The  severe  labor  and 
hard  fare  of  a  miner's  life  wore  upon  me  at  last.  I  was  cheered 
by  no  kind  sympathy  from  home.  Fortune  seemed  to  frown  on 
every  undertaking.  My  mournful  fancy  pictured  my  wife  and 
child  dying  of  want,  or  dependants  on  the  rude  charities  of  the 
world.  Do  you  wonder,  Alice,  that  fatigue  and  a  twofold  des 
pair  made  me  sick  at  last  ?  For  months  I  lay  in  a  low  fever, 
unsettled  in  mind  and  feeble  in  body,  with  no  care  save  the 
rough  though  kindly  nursing  of  the  poor  miners.  The  truest 
humanity  is  oftenest  found  among  the  uncultivated  poor.  I 
learned  that  then.  Heaven  be  merciful  to  them,  as  they  were 
to  me ! 

No  one  thought  that  I  could  survive,  —  indeed,  it  was  re 
ported  that  I  was  dead.  But,  by  little  and  little,  my  strength 
returned.  I  went  back  to  life,  bearing  it  but  for  one  purpose, 
—  to  work  for  my  family,  or  to  hear  some  tidings  of  them. 

Then  came  the  crushing  report  that  my  wife  and  child  were 
dead. 

Frantic  with  the  fear  of  losing  every  thing  worth  living  for, 
I  sent  letter  after  letter  to  the  East ;  but  days,  weeks,  months 
passed,  and  still  no  tidings.  What  became  of  those  letters,  I 


THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

never  knew.  I  do  not  think  they  ever  reached  their  destination. 
Probably  they  were  opened  for  the  money  they  contained ;  for 
I  denied  myself  every  thing,  —  almost  starved  myself,  —  to  send 
each  time  some  scanty  pittance  to  those  who,  if  yet  living,  I 
would  have  died  to  save  from  one  thought  of  privation.  Reck 
less  of  every  thing  in  my  despair,  I  would  have  returned  and 
sought  for  you  myself,  and  learn  certainly  if  the  terrible  rumor 
were  indeed  truth ;  but  one  day,  as  I  was  going  to  the  city  post- 
office,  —  I  did  so  now  daily,  having  abandoned  my  mining  labors, 
—  I  met  a  friend  from  Connecticut,  a  native  of  our  own  dear 
town.  My  heart  leaped  up  with  a  sudden  bound,  and  the  ques 
tion  I  most  wished  to  ask,  yet  the  answer  to  which  I  dreaded, 
trembled  on  my  tongue.  The  man  started  as  if  he  had  seen  a 
vision.  "  Your  friends  all  think  you  dead,"  said  he.  "  We 
heard  you  had  died  of  a  fever."  lie  told  me  that  he  had  been 
removed  from  Connecticut  some  time,  —  that  my  wife  and  child 
were  dead  for  a  certainty  ;  and  he  gave  me  the  full  particulars 
of  my  poor  Mary's  last  sickness.  With  regard  to  you,  he  was 
not  able  to  say  when,  where,  or  how  you  had  died ;  but  he  said 
he  had  received  the  information  on  good  authority,  and  I  be 
lieved  him.  1  now  no  longer  wondered  that  I  received  no  let 
ters  from  family  or  friends.  They  believed  me  dead.  From 
that  day  life  was  a  blank  to  me.  I  no  longer  cared  what  became 
of  me.  I  could  not  go  back  to  look  at  the  graves  of  my  wife 
and  child.  What  had  I  to  do  in  a  country  that  held  only  graves 
for  me  ?  I  shipped  on  board  a  merchantman  for  India.  After 
wards,  I  learned  that  the  person  who  informed  me  of  your 
death  had  been  killed  by  the  Indians  in  a  skirmish.  So  you  see 
how  all  hope  of  your  hearing  of  me  was  cut  oft';  for  I  took  no 
pains  to  correct  the  impression  of  my  death,  preferring,  since  I 
had  died  to  happiness,  to  die  to  the  world  also.  I  courted 
death  in  a  thousand  forms.  I  climbed  to  the  highest  mast  in  a 
fierce  siorm,  when  the  hearts  of  the  stout  sailors  shrunk  from 
the  duty.  I  saw  the  young  and  happy  swept  from  me  like 
summer  dew-drops;  but  death  passed  me,  as  he  always  does 
the  worn-out,  waiting  soul.  Fortune  turned  her  wheel  favor- 


A    HOPE    FOR   THE   FUTURE.  255 

ingly,  now  that  I  cared  not  for  her  favors.  Wealth  flowed  in 
upon  me  ;  but  I  sat  a  dark,  weary  man,  whose  only  peace  was 
in  spending  his  abundance  in  charity.  I  made  the  poor  my 
family,  told  no  one  of  my  past  history  ;  and  many  wondered  at 
the  strange  man,  who  seemed  to  carry  a  secret  with  him  which 
the  world  could  never  know. 

But  sorrow  and  trouble  and  years  began  to  tell  their  tales. 
My  hair  began  to  be  sprinkled  with  gray.  Though  still  a  young 
man,  my  residence  at  the  south  had  robbed  me  of  my  fresh 
vigor.  I  resolved  to  make  a  long  tour  of  Europe ;  and  then,  if 
Heaven  willed  it,  I  would  make  a  pilgrimage  to  my  loved  ones' 
graves,  and  die.  It  was  while  at  Florence  that  I  saw  your  por 
trait.  It  was  the  speaking  picture  of  your  mother  in  her  girl 
hood,  only  a  little  sadder,  —  a  little  more  tenderly  thoughtful. 
O  Alice !  I  might  have  prevented  those  shades  on  your  face. 
Heaven  forgive  me ! 

And  now,  Alice,  tenderly  lov-d,  will  you  not  come  to  me, 
and  let  me  love  you,  and  repay  you  for  all  your  past  years  of 
weariness  and  toil  ?  God  bless  your  uncle  for  his  kind  care  of 
you  !  But  oh,  my  child  !  have  not  the  longing  arms,  the  tender 
love,  of  a  parent  some  claim  upon  your  sympathy,  even  though 
they  once  let  you  slip  from  their  embrace?  I  would  come  to 
you,  but  my  health  has  never  been  good  since  my  India  life ; 
and  the  excitement  of  this  discovery  has  so  wrought  upon  me, 
that  my  physicians  utterly  forbid  my  making  the  attempt.  So 
will  you  not  come  to  me  for  a  season,  and  we  will  all  return 
together  ?  I  have  made  friends  of  Mr.  Gushing  and  his  lady, 
and  am  now  staying  with  them.  Their  arms  are  also  open  to 
receive  you.  Thank  God  that  I  have  found  a  daughter,  and 
that  I  have  found  one  so  true,  so  Christian-like,  as  your  friends 
here  report !  Your  friend,  Ellen  Lee,  her  brother  informs  me, 
will  reach  here  in  the  fall.  I  wish  you  to  join  her  party.  May 
God  keep  you  in  safety.!  Hope  beckons  us  in  the  future,  and 
Faith  points  us  to  rest  at  last. 

Your  loving  father, 

EDWARD   MORTON. 


256  THE    SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

There  were  other  letters,  explanatory  and  busi 
ness.  Mr.  Morton  had  placed  abundant  funds  at 
her  disposal,  and  appointed  for  her  a  business  agent 
in  New  York.  Alice  thought  little  of  these.  She 
only  knew  that  a  change  so  happy  had  come  upon 
her,  that  so  blessed  a  protection  was  offered  her,  that 
she  seemed  in  a  dream.  And  then  a  feeling  of 
peace  came  over  her,  —  of  devout  thankfulness  ;  and 
she  folded  her  hands  together,  and  bowed  her  head, 
as  if  a  voice  had  said,  "  Let  us  pray." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

FAREWELL. 

THEY  had  all  followed  her  down  the  garden  walk, 
Nina  and  Freddy  and  Edward  ;  and  the  judge  stood 
holding  back  the  gate  for  her  to  pass  out. 

"I  suppose,"  said  he,  with  the  old  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "  that  now  our  Miss  Alice  has  grown  so  rich  a 
lady,  she  will  forget  her  humble  friends,  or  put  us 
down  in  the  list  of  her  poor  relations." 

Little  Freddy  clung  to  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  and 
looked  up  wistfully  into  her  face,  as  if  he  half  com 
prehended  he  was  going  to  part  from  a  friend ;  while 
Nina  seized  her  hand  impulsively,  and  said,  "  What, 
Miss  Alice  grow  proud !  I  don't  believe  she  could ; 
do  you,  Edward  ?  " 

The  emphatic  "  No  "  which  answered  this  seemed 
to  satisfy  all  parties  that  it  was  simply  impossible 
for  Alice  to  be  other  than  her  own  sweet  self,  money 
or  no  money :  only  the  judge  shook  his  head,  and 
said  something  about  its  being  unlawful  to  trust  the 
evidence  of  a  partial  or  interested  person. 

"  How  is  your  uncle,  Alice  ? "  said  the  judge. 
"  Does  he  like  the  idea  of  parting  with  his  pro 
tege  ?  " 

"  He  is  well,"  replied  Alice  ;  "  but  he  says  he 
should  like  to  keep  me  a  little  longer." 


258  THE    SHKAVtS    OF    LOVE. 

"  So  we  all  should,  indeed,"  was  the  reply.  "  I 
hardly  know  what  Nina  will  do  without  her  *  good 
model,'  as  she  calls  you.  Ah!  my  dear  girl,"  he 
added  in  a  changed  voice,  "  you  are  richer  in  the 
love  of  those  innocent  hearts  you  have  been  guiding, 
than  you  will  ever  be  in  worldly  goods.  If  I  were 
going  across  the  sea,  I  should  be  sure  to  take  pas 
sage  with  you  ;  for  the  Father's  eye  will  surely  guard 
well  that  dear  one  for  whom,  so  many  pure  prayers 
rise  daily." 

Alice  turned  away  to  hide  her  emotion,  and  brush 
away  a  few  tears ;  she  could  not  think  of  her  ap 
proaching  separation  from  her  pupils  without  a 
pang.  Then,  grasping  the  judge's  hand,  she  said, 
"  Wherever  I  go,  my  dear  friend,  I  shall  never 
forget  your  kindness  ;  I  shall  never  forget  the  sym 
pathy  which  has  always  cheered  me,  the  ready  help 
in  trouble,  and  the  warm  welcome  I  always  met  in 
this  house." 

She  passed  out  into  the  road. 

"  You  shall  always  have  that  here,"  said  the 
judge. 

Little  Freddy  wondered  what  made  papa's  eyes 
look  so  bright.  The  truth  was,  Judge  Hall's  tender 
heart  brought  a  shining  mist  into  his  eyes. 

He  turned  away  and  strode  up  the  avenue,  pooh- 
ing  and  pshawing  all  the  way  ;  but  still  the  bright 
mist  gathered  in  his  eyes,  and  some  of  it  even  rolled 
down  his  cheeks  in  the  form  of  a  few  tears. 


FAREWELL.  £59 

"  I  did  not  know  how  much  I  loved  that  girl," 
said  he  to  himself,  as  he  shut  the  door  of  his  library, 
and  began  talking  to  himself  about  the  folly  of  an 
old  man  like  him  being  so  tender-hearted. 

It  was  strange  how  Alice,  had  placed  herself  in 
the  centre  of  almost  every  heart.  Even  the  judge 
had  felt  her  influence. 

11  I  never  believed  so  completely  in  the  power  of 
personal  influence,"  said  Edward,  as  they  walked 
down  the  old  road,  "  as  I  do  now.  My  dear 
Alice,  you  make  me  ashamed  of  myself.  When 
I  look  at  the  amount  of  good  you  have  done, 
with  your  few  advantages,  I  feel  how  I  have  wasted 
my  life.  I  have  you  to  thank  for  that  happier  phi 
losophy  which  first  taught  me  that  only  in  constant 
labor  for  others  can  we  find  our  own  true  happiness. 
Now  I  know  that  only  he  fulfils  life's  mission  who 
makes  his  power  the  means  of  good  to  humanity." 

"  You  did  not  always  think  so,"  said  Alice. 

"  No,"  said  Edward.  "  I  was  content  to  be  idle, 
because  I  had  no  faith.  And,  I  blush  to  say  it !  I 
had  a  little  pride  too.  The  mass  of  the  people 
seemed  so  low,  so  uncultivated,  that  it  seemed  use 
less  to  try  to  help  them  up,  —  a  thankless  task  not 
worth  one's  trouble.  Now  I  see  how  neither  the 
day  nor  the  hour  bringeth  forth  the  perfect  good, 
but  much  work  and  much  patient  waiting.  I 
am  willing  to  work  because  it  is  duty,  leaving 
the  issue  to  the  great  Former  of  destiny.  It  is 


THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

your  influence  and  example  that  has  wrought  this, 
Alice." 

"  No,  not  wholly,  if  at  all,  Edward.  Your  own 
heart  would  not  let  you  rest.  You  were  unsatisfied 
with  yourself.  One  so .  noble,  so  generous,  as  you 
are,  could  not  long  have  remained  an  idler  in  the 
great  work-field  our  Father  has  given  us.  If  I  have 
helped  you  any,  I  am  only  too  happy.  I  will  not 
say  I  had  no  influence,  for  we  should  be  just  to  our 
selves.  "We  all  have  an  influence.  He  who  in  ex 
cess  of  false  humility  denies  it  wrongs  himself,  in 
that  he  does  himself  injustice,  and  his  Maker,  in  that 
he  denies  He  has  given  him  a  soul  and  a  heart." 

Edward  looked  at  her  in  admiration.  "  How 
much  wisdom  there  is  in  a  good  heart ! "  said  he. 
"  What  all  my  study  could  not  teach  me,  your  pure 
instincts  revealed  to  you.  I  am  glad  on  one  ac 
count  that  you  will  leave  me  for  a  time,  Alice." 

She  looked  up  inquiringly. 

(f  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  to  try  to  make  my 
self  worthy  of  you.  Henceforth  it  shall  never  be 
said  of  me,  '  This  man  put  his  hand  to  the  plough, 
and  looked  back.'  Into  the  world,  into  the  thickest 
of  her  hurry,  her  folly,  her  sinfulness,  I  will  go, 
with  the  sword  of  justice  and  the  olive  of  peace. 
What  influence  I  have  shall  be  exerted.  I  will 
plead  the  cause  of  the  poor  and  the  oppressed.  I 
will  break  the  power  of  the  wicked  and  the  proud. 
I  will  open  the  prison  doors  for  those  who  are 


FAREWELL. 

wrongfully  bound.  Farewell,  Alice  !  May  the  Lord 
keep  you  in  safety  !  Pray  for  me,  that  I  fail  not, 
that  I  no  longer  waste  my  manhood  for  that  which 
profiteth  nothing." 

He  was  gone ;  and  Alice  sat  down  on  the  wide 
doorstep  at  the  old  kitchen  door,  and  wept  freely. 
The  stars  were  coming  out  in  the  sky,  when  she  en 
tered  the  house.  She  was  going  away,  to  be  absent 
many  months,  and  every  familiar  object  seemed  dear 
to  her.  She  stood  quite  still  in  the  doorway,  watch 
ing  Content,  as  she  went  on  with,  her  work.  Then, 
advancing  to  the  table,  she  said,  "  Do  you  remember, 
Content,  that  this  is  my  last  night  at  home  ?  " 

"  'Member  it,  Miss  Alice  ?  'Pears  like  dis  chile 
berry  sorry  all  day !  There'll  be  jis  nuffin  't  all  left 
when  you've  gone  ;  "  and  Content  put  on  such  a 
dolorous  expression,  and  mopped  up  her  sable  face 
so  vigorously  with  her  apron,  that  Alice  laughed  in 
spite  of  herself.  She  had  been  making  a  prodigious 
noise  among  the  kettles,  to  cover  her  emotions  ;  but 
now  she  laid  down  her  dishcloth,  and,  sinking  on 
the  bench,  sobbed  outright.  Alice  soothed  and 
comiorted  her  ;  reminded  her  of  the  good  Friend 
who  is  always  at  hand  and  present  with  us ;  en 
couraged  her  so  simply  and  lovingly,  that  the  good 
creature  stopped  her  tears,  and  looked  up  into  Alice's 
face,  as  if  expecting  to  see  some  heavenly  grace  and 
beauty  there,  instead  of  the  girlish  though,  grave 
and  tender  features  of  her  young  teacher. 


THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

"  May  de  good  Lord  bress  ye,  honey !  I'se  one 
ting  I  prays  for,  and  dat  is,  dat  they'll  let  us  both 
in  at  de  same  door  of  de  kingdom.  'Pears  like  I 
must  have  ye  there." 

The  tears  were  not  yet  dry  upon  Alice's  face 
when  she  joined  the  family.  They  were  all  there, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whiting,  Fred  and  the  girls. 

Alice  would  take  her  departure  early  in  the  morn 
ing  to  join  her  friends  some  miles  beyond,  and  this 
evening  was  sacred  to  love's  farewell.  The  judge's 
family,  with  their  ever-refined  delicacy,  had  taken 
their  leave  of  her,  that  they  might  not  break  the 
home-circle,  which  they  knew  held  Alice  as  one  of 
its  most  strong  and  cherished  links. 

There  were  loving  tones  and  looks  and  words 
for  the  departing  one  ;  they  rejoiced  in  her  good 
fortune ;  they  regretted  their  own  loss ;  and  they 
proved  their  affection  so  effectually,  that  Alice 
hardly  knew  whether  she  was  more  pleased  or 
sorry  that  she  was  going  into  the  arms  of  a  long-lost 
parent. 

But  this  was  only  natural.  The  present  is  warm, 
sunny,  heart-endeared ;  the  past,  and  even  the  hope 
ful  future,  are  as  a  tale  that  is  told,  a  dream  to  be 
realized.  No  wonder  Alice  lingered  long,  when 
she  knew  tried  hearts  held  her  so  lovingly ! 

Is  there  not  a  reward  in  a  good  life  ?  Hear  what 
Ellen  Lee  said,  as  they  left  their  old  home  and 
former  friends  :  "  Alice,  your  influence  has  leavened 


FAREWELL.  263 

my  whole  life.  All  that  I  am  I  owe  to  you.  I 
would  rather  have  your  genius  than  any  other, — 
the  genius  for  making  every  one  happy  around  you. 
It  is  the  true  genius,  Alice,  — the  poetry  of  a  true 
life,  set  to  music." 

We  must  leave  them  awhile  floating  out  upon  the 
sea  towards  sunny  Italy.  As  they  watched  the  edge 
of  the  horizon  fade  into  the  sky,  Ellen  gave  a  last 
farewell  to  her  native  home  in  these  lines  :  — 

"  Oh  ebbing  tide,  bear  on 
Over,  the  mystic  sea  ! 
The  last  dim  speck  of  that  land  is  gone 
Which  held  but  graves  for  me. 

Here  on  the  solemn  main, 

Between  the  future  and  past, 
My  soul  may  gather  her  strength  again^ 

And  stand  in  her  might  at  last. 

Oh  ebbing  tide,  bear  on ! 

Across  our  souls  the  waves 
Are  ebbing  away  from  the  sin  they  have  borne : 

They  leave  it  a  land  of  graves,  — 

Graves  where  we  buried  the  past, 

Along  with  the  folly  it  bore ; 
And,  listening  softly,  heard  at  last 

The  mandate,  '  Sin  no  more.' 

Oh,  sailor  at  the  helm, 

Look  out  o'er  the  mystic  sea  !  — 
For  our  vessel's  port  is  that  distant  realm 

Which  lies  in  eternity,  — 


264  THE    SHEAVES    OF    JOVE. 

And  say  what  watch  are  we  in, 

How  does  the  good  ship  steer : 
The  land-breeze  blows  from  the  coasts  of  sin, 

And  the  rapids  of  death  are  near. 

Oh  ebbing  tide,  bear  on 

Over  Life's  ocean  deep ! 
For  our  vessel  is  stout  and  our  hearts  are  strong, 

And  we've  put  our  fears  to  sleep. 

Over  the  mystic  sea, 

Beyond  the  graves  of  sin, 
The  gates  of  heaven  shall  open  to  me, 

And  God  shall  welcome  me  in. 

Bear  on,  oh  ebbing  sea ! 

Our  sails  to  the  winds  are  given ; 
God  is  our  Captain  and  Guide,  and  he 

Will  pilot  us  all  to  heaven. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

CONCLUSION. 

THE  soft  June  sunlight  fell  as  merrily,  and  the 
birds  sang  their  matin  hymns  as  sweetly,  in  the  little 
village  of  Elmwood,  as  if  five  long  years  had  not 
elapsed  since  we  saw  it  last.  Ah,  reader !  are  you 
looking  for  the  old  Lee  Farm  ?  and  do  you  expect  to 
see  our  friends,  the  Whitings,  still  there  ?  The  Lee 
farmhouse  still  nestles  amid  its  elms  and  maples ; 
but  Mr.  "Whiting  has  gone  back  to  New  York,  and 
you  must  seek  him  in  the  same  marble-fronted  palace 
he  occupied  when  our  story  opened. 

But  I  have  another  scene  for  your  eyes  to-day. 
Look  where  the  church-spire  flashes  in  the  morning 
rays.  The  dew  is  yet  upon  the  grass,  and  the  early 
freshness  of  the  dawn  lingers  with  the  breath  of 
flowers  in  every  road  and  by-path.  Still  the  vil 
lagers  are  astir.  Groups  of  merry,  laughing  child 
ren  might  be  seen  almost  running  in  the  direction 
of  the  church.  Knots  of  gay  maidens  and  young 
men  are  scattered  here  and  there,  all  in  their  holi 
day  dress ;  for  two  of  their  most  loved  companions 
—  and  long  absent  too  —  are  to  be  married  to-day. 
It  was  the  marriage  of  Alice  which  the  villagers 
flocked  to  witness.  One  called  to  mind  how  good 
Miss  Alice  had  been  when  her  dear  boy  was  sick ; 
12 


266  THE   SHEAVES   OF   LOVE. 

and  another,  how  beautifully  she  talked  to  her  when 
she  lay  ill  of  a  fever.  And  many  blessed  the  noble 
Edward,  who  had  stood,  not  with  words  only,  but 
with  hands  full  of  comforts  for  his  dear  brothers  in 
poverty. 

A  bridal  procession  swept  down  the  aisle,  and 
paused  before  the  altar.  The  bride  looked  little  dif 
ferent  from  our  Alice  of  old,  —  only  the  promise  of 
her  girlhood  has  been  realized  in  the  tall,  noble- 
looking  woman ;  and  her  face,  though  still  plain  in 
repose,  is  marked  with  such  a  high  expression,  and 
speaks  so  much  of  soul,  that  the  beholder,  at  first 
sight,  would  call  her  really  beautiful.  Such  a  charm, 
as  of  innocence  and  peace,  seemed  to  float  around 
her,  that  the  villagers  declared  ever  after  that  she 
was  more  of  an  angel  than  had  stood  at  that  altar 
for  many  a  long  year. 

There  is  no  nobler  sight  on  all  God's  earth  than  a 
young,  hopeful  heart  giving  itself  and  its  affections 
for  life  to  another.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whiting  both 
wept  as  Alice's  clear  responses  rang  out  over  the 
crowded  house ;  and  her  father  sobbed  like  a  child 
during  the  whole  service.  The  good  old  pastor,  who 
had  fed  the  Lord's  lambs  in  that  place  for  nearly  half 
a  century,  placed  his  trembling  hands  on  their  heads 
as  they  knelt  before  him,  and  said,  "  May  our  Father 
love  you  and  bless  you,  and  give  you  the  '  peace 
that  passeth  all  understanding,'  and  keep  you  in  his 
keeping ! " 


CONCLUSION.  267 

The  judge  had  forgotten  none  of  his  old-fashioned 
hospitality.  The  doors  of  the  "  great  house,"  as  the 
villagers  called  it,  were  thrown  open  for  a  festival. 
Long  tables  were  set  on  the  green  lawn,  and  music 
and  dancing  made  the  blood  leap  with  quicker 
bounds  through  every  vein.  Amidst  it  all,  a  family 
group  sat  in  the  library,  and  talked  lovingly  of  the 
past  and  hopefully  of  the  future.  Alice's  father  had 
been  received  among  them  long  ago,  and  now  wel 
comed  his  son-in-law  with  even  more  than  paternal 
fervor.  "  Remember,  my  children,"  he  said,  "  that 
you  are  all  I  have  ;  and  try  to  love  me  a  little.  I 
am  sad  and  grave,  I  know ;  but  the  shadow  of  a 
great  sorrow  is  on  my  heart.  Alice  is  a  good  girl, 
— r-just  like  her  dead  mother.  May  she  prove  the 
blessing  to  you  that  she  was  to  me  !  " 

"  She  has  proved  a  blessing  to  all  of  us,  and  to  all 
who  ever  knew  her,"  said  the  judge,  kissing  her 
cheek.  "  It  is  all  I  wished  to  see,  the  two  I  loved 
best  united ;  "  and  the  judge  rubbed  his  hands  with 
intense  satisfaction. 

"  Who  would  have  thought,"  said  Fred,  "  when 
Alice  came  to  our  house  a  poor  orphan,  that  she 
would  one  day  return  to  us  more  than  we  ever  have 
given  her,  both  in  a  moral  and  pecuniary  sense  ? 
She  formed  my  character.  All  that  I  am,  or  ever 
shall  be,  I  owe  to  her." 

"  She  saved  me  from  the  quicksands  of  folly  and 
vanity,"  said  Ada. 


268  THE    SHEAVES   OF   LOVE. 

"And  held  up  the  glass  to  me,"  said  Lizzie,  "  so 
that  I  sa\v  my  own  deformity.  I  felt  bitter  towards 
her  once  ;  now  I  repent,  and  wish  her  every  happi 
ness." 

"  My  children,"  said  Mr.  Whiting,  with  moisten 
ing  eyes,  "  God  bless  you  all,  and  God  bless  the 
self-sacrificing  girl  who  has  made  us  all  so  happy ! 
Heaven,  in  its  wisdom,  has  seen  fit  to  punish  our 
pride,  and  exalt  her  humility.  Never  forget,  my 
children,  the  true  riches.  We  were  never  so  poor, 
as  amidst  our  so-called  wealth." 

Mrs.  Whiting,  now  that  she  had  become  sur 
rounded  with  her  former  atmosphere  of  wealth,  had 
regained  all  her  fashionable  pride.  She  murmured 
as  much  as  ever,  though  her  heart  seemed  to  have 
warmed  somewhat  towards  her  niece  and  children, 
when  she  saw  their  noble  bearing  in  poverty.  But 
she  never  ceased  to  regret  that  her  daughters  had 
acquired  such  vulgar  tastes,  and  lost  their  relish  for 
fashion  and  dress.  "  Alice  was  a  very  pretty  bride," 
she  said,  "  and  her  husband  is  one  to  be  proud 
of;  but  I  shall  never  forgive  her  for  not  being 
married  in  New  York,  and  having  a  wedding- 
party." 

Reader,  if  you  will  search  among  the  many  beauti 
ful  mansions  which  dot  the  banks  of  the  Hudson, 
you  will  somewhere  find  the  peaceful  home  of 
Edward  Hall  and  his  noble  wife.  Not  in  the  rapid 


CONCLUSION.  269 

whirl  of  fashion  is  their  pathway  laid.  When  they 
married  they  entered  into  a  solemn  covenant  to  help 
one  another  in  faith,  in  love,  and  in  duty.  Hand 
in  hand  they  are  passing  along  a  sunny  road,  bright 
ened  by  a  love  which  is  centred  and  bounded  by 
the  divine  love  ;  and  the  angels  of  Peace  and 
Charity  come  and  go  over  their  threshold,  and  make 
them  blessed.  The  harp,  whose  pure  tones  first 
taught  Edward  the  melodies  of  truth,  plays  for  him 
always ;  for  Alice's  heart  is  all  his  own,  and  his 
monitor  still  walks  by  his  side  with  the  words  he 
loves  to  hear. 

The  judge's  house  in  Elm  wood  is  shut  up,  for  he 
could  not  live  apart  from  his  son ;  and  his  arm-chair 
stands  opposite  the  one  where  Alice's  father  sits. 
Only  once  a  year  they  all  go  the  "  old  place,"  and 
live  over  a  past  which  had  mingled  with  it  much  of 
pleasure  as  well  as  painful  experience.  Nina  is  now 
grown  to  be  a  tall  young  lady,  and  entertains  her 
father's  friends  with  dignified  politeness  ;  but  after 
all  I  suspect  she  is  something  of  a  romp,  for  the 
broken  limb  of  a  cherry-tree  in  the  orchard  still 
testifies  to  the  sad  effect  of  her  last  feat  at  climbing. 
Little  Freddy  takes  private  lessons  of  Alice  ( for 
she  has  never  quite  outgrown  the  teacher),  and 
shows  his  father  long  "  sums,"  neatly  copied  on  his 
slate.  And  the  judge  will  look  first  at  the  slate, 
then  at  the  rosy  face  of  the  boy,  and  back  to  the 
slate  again ;  and  finally,  taking  off  his  spectacles, 
12* 


270  THE   SHEAVES   OF    LOVE. 

he  wipes  them  carefully  with  his  silk  handkerchief. 
What  do  you  suppose  it  is  for  ? 

We  must  not  forget  our  old  friend  Sam.  He  is 
no  longer  farm-boy  ;  but  his  ready  wit  and  shrewd 
ness  has  advanced  him  to  the  post  of  chief  overseer 
on  the  estates  of  our  friends  at  Elmwood.  He  has 
never  outgrown  his  talent  for  telling  white  lies,  and 
makes  as  queer  speeches  as  ever.  But,  to  this  day, 
the  chief  object  of  his  veneration  is  Miss  Alice. 

Poor  old  Content  has  long  since  entered  the  king 
dom  which  it  was  her  chief  delight  to  anticipate  in 
life.  Alice  shed  as  many  tears  over  her  old  friend 
as  if  she  had  been  heiress  of  untold  wealth,  and 
firmly  believes  that  she  shall  see  her  in  heaven, 
and  hold  her. 

Of  Mr.  Whiting's  family  much  might  be  said ; 
and  yet  a  little  will  sum  up  all.  Fred  has  received 
a  splendid  education,  and  plead  his  first  cause.  It 
was  a  brilliant  triumph,  and  placed  him  at  once  in 
the  full  blaze  of  the  public  eye.  Edward  Hall 
watches  over  him,  anxious  lest  the  too  great  flat 
teries  of  his  admirers  should  lead  him  astray  from 
that  centre  of  duty  which  alone  should  be  the  princi 
ple  of  a  true  and  noble  life.  Everywhere  Edward 
Hall's  name  is  spoken  with  respect.  First  and 
foremost  in  the  cause  of  the  weak,  earnest  and 
truthful  though  the  world  should  frown,  —  there  are 
many  honest  tongues  ready  to  praise  him,  and  many 
hearts  which  remember  him  in  their  prayers.  He 


CONCLUSION. 


is  rich,  and  does  not  need  to  labor;  but  he  seeks  out 
the  poor  and  oppressed,  and  rights  them  by  the 
thunder  of  his  eloquence,  or  the  still  voice  of  his  all- 
subduing  humanity. 

Lizzie  and  Ada  still  remain  at  home  ;  proving  by 
quiet  ministrations  how  much  they  are  changed  from 
the  selfish,  vain  girls  we  once  knew  them.  They 
make  their  father's  life  truly  a  blessed  one.  The 
heavy  curtains  no  longer  shut  out  the  sunlight  from 
the  rooms  ;  but  every  thing  bright  and  beautiful 
finds  a  home  there.  And  every  Christmas  Eve  a 
family  party  gathers  there  ;  and  old-fashioned  sim 
plicity  makes  their  hearts  young  and  fresh  as  a  May 
morning. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gushing  resides  on  the  banks  of 
the  Hudson,  not  far  from  Alice's  home.  They  have 
at  last  adopted  her  into  their  love  ;  and  Alice  calls 
Mrs.  Gushing  "  mother,"  as  she  promised  she  would 
perhaps  do  some  day.  Happy  Alice,  to  be  so  loved 
by  many  hearts  ! 

Charles  and  Ellen  Lee  have  been  at  home  a 
month.  Charles  is  now  a  painter  of  some  celebrity  ; 
but  perhaps  no  picture  which  he  ever  executed  has 
brought  him  so  many  blessings  as  the  portraits  of 
Ellen  and  Alice.  When  Alice  was  married,  he 
made  her  a  present  of  it,  and  it  now  hangs  in  the 
library  ;  and  Mr.  Morton  never  passes  it  without  a 
sad  look  and  tearful  eyes.  Ellen  has  indeed  made 
her  genius  the  means  of  good  to  others.  Many  good 


THE    SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 

and  valuable  books  testify  to  the  labor  of  her  pen  ; 
and  many  foreign  friends  will  long  remember  the 
young  American  poetess.  And  there  is  a  rumor 
that  Fred  admires  and  loves  the  reflection  of  his 
dear  Alice  as  he  sees  it  in  Ellen,  and  that  she  will 
soon  be  Mrs.  Frederick  "Whiting.  As  for  Charles, 
he  is  wedded  to  his  art. 

There  is  one  more  of  whom  I  fain  would  speak. 
Ellen  Lee  is  a  large-hearted,  benevolent  woman,  and 
often  pursues  her  missions  of  charity  through  the 
crowded  lanes  of  New  York.  One  day  a  note  was 
brought  her  from  a  dying  woman,  praying  her 
assistance.  She  went  immediately.  Judge  of  her 
surprise  to  find,  in  the  emaciated  and  friendless  being 
before  her,  her  once  cruel  enemy,  Evelina  Cobb- 
Tenderly  she  nursed  and  soothed  her.  The  poor 
woman  was  nervous,  and  told  Ellen,  with  tears  and 
protestations  of  grief,  how  much  she  repented  of  her 
former  wickedness.  "  I  believe,"  she  said,  "  that 
God  has  sent  these  sorrows  upon  me  for  my  youth 
ful  sins.  I  am  dying  ;  so  I  may  ask  you  to  forgive 
me."  Ellen  wept  and  prayed  over  her,  and  listened 
in  sad  pity,  while  she  told  her  that  her  husband's 
name  was  Eugene  Lovering,  and  that  he  was  in  the 
State  Prison,  sentenced  for  many  years.  Her  only 
child  had  died  from  want  of  proper  food  and  care. 
It  truly  seemed  like  a  judgment.  The  noble  woman 
she  had  so  wronged  stood  before  her  like  an  angel 
of  mercy,  —  nursed  her,  comforted  her,  prayed  for 


CONCLUSION.  273 

her,  and  at  last  brought  her  back  to  life,  and  found 
her  a  home  and  friends.  "  The  last  shall  be  first, 
and  the  first  last." 

Lizzie  especially  interested  herself  for  her.  The 
great  lesson  of  her  life  had  been  taught  her  by  the 
man  who  was  the  cause  of  all  this  misery.  But 
Evelina  never  was  aware  that  Lizzie  Whiting  had 
known  her  degraded  husband.  Eugene  Lovering, 
she  said,  had  beguiled  her  by  flattering  words  and 
great  promises ;  and  she,  having  no  basis  of  princi 
ple,  left  her  father's  house,  and  they  cast  her  off  for 
ever.  She  had  been  married  in  a  Roman  Catholic 
Chapel. 

It  was  strange  that  it  had  not  occurred  to  Alice 
before  that  the  writer  of  that  note  might  be  Eve 
lina  Cobb. 

(<  There  is  that  maketh  himself  rich,  yet  hath  no 
thing."  The  love  of  money  and  the  foolish  vani 
ties  of  the  world  had  proved  Mr.  "Whiting's  ruin. 
Then  he  shut  his  soul  up  to  the  pleadings  of  con 
science,  —  till  a  voice  which  he  had  learned  to  love 
stole  in  soft  accents  to  his  ear ;  till  the  hand  of  a 
child  had  led  him  into  the  low  valleys  of  Peace ; 
and  the  example  of  a  daily  life,  whose  very  atmos 
phere  was  goodness,  taught  him  wisdom,  and  made 
him  a  better  man.  Through  the  aid  of  Alice's 
father,  he  regained  his  former  wealth ;  but  in  the 
large  library  you  will  find  one  improvement.  This 
is  a  marble  tablet,  on  which  is  inscribed,  in  letters 


274 


THE   SHEAVES    OF    LOVE. 


of  gold,  this  scripture  text :  "  Let  not  the  rich 
man  glory  in  his  riches  ;  but  let  him  that  glorieth 
glory  in  this,  —  that  he  understandeth  and  knoweth 
me ;  that  I  am  the  Lord,  which  exercise  loving  kind 
ness,  judgment,  and  righteousness  in  the  earth." 

To  Alice  the  promise  is  fulfilled  at  last.  She 
went  forth  a  noble  and  earnest  laborer.  She  sowed 
in  tears ;  now  she  reaps  in  joy.  Her  whole  life  is 
like  a  harvest-day,  bright  with  sunny  gleamings, 
filled  with  song  and  gladness.  Yes,  from  the  field 
of  labor  she  returned  homeward  with  singing  and 
thanksgiving,  bearing  her  precious  "  Sheaves  "  with 
her. 


THE    END. 


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